


Wandering Off

by Weasy



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Authors, F/M, Journalism, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Musicians, Partying, Pop Culture, Shameless Smut, not slow burn, publishing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2018-12-30 19:31:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12115665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weasy/pseuds/Weasy
Summary: Maybe it was because Rose’s reputation started out so squeaky clean, but a few wrong moves has epically killed off her teenage superstardom.Years later she reunites with the Doctor, but does she have an ulterior motive?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> While this is quite emphatically not a real person fic, I was somewhat inspired by Billie Piper for some of the initial plot; mainly the idea of deciding to quit a pop career, pretty much all the other details are different. It's also set now-ish.
> 
> I have a plot but it's fairly flexible at the minute, not sure how long this will end up. It's not going to be a slow burn though.

The interviewer was young, with short blonde hair that was shaved into at odd angles and chunky black rimmed glasses perched on a button nose. He was kind of cute, and Rose smiled at him, trying her best to look open and personable and not have resting bitch face as per instructions. She thought for a moment about messaging Mickey with an update on her hottie-reporter’o’meter, but by the time she remembered who was looking after her phone she’d also realised just how long it had been since Mickey had texted her back.

They’d already done the air kisses and half hugs carefully placed to avoid any mussing of hair or makeup, and were now sat opposite each other on low puffy chairs. Glancing down one side of her chair revealed an ephemera of oversized props. Probably she’d have to pose with some later, taking snaps for instagram or snapchat and giggling like it was the first time she’d ever been asked to do such a thing.

The reporter finished shuffling his papers and smiled warmly, inching forward in his seat on the cameraman’s instructions so they were framed better in the shot. A glance to her right would have shown her a bank of staff milling around, both hers and attached to the journalist. She tried to remember who she was doing this interview for. 

They got the signal to go from the cameraman and the reporter smiled warmly, waving at her across the small space. “Hi, Rose Tyler. So pleased to meet you again!”

Oh God, she’d met him before? She didn’t remember anything of the sort… “Well not me,” the reporter continued, “but having you back at Genesis Music is so exciting. We had so much fun in the ball pit last time.”

Rose giggled nervously and lied profusely. “Of course, I always love coming here to see you guys.” 

“You don’t remember that at all do you?”

“Um no,” She confessed. “I’m really sorry. Unless…” She wracked her brains. “Were there questions written on the balls?”

“Yes!” 

They’d had a different lead reporter then, a man so thin and bitterly sarcastic sincerity may have caused him to snap in half. Sitting in a ball pit with him at 17, answering questions about the school days she’d not experienced in at least a year had been surreal but kind of funny. “I remember.”

“And now you’re here with your new album?” The reporter prompted.

“Yes, it’s called More Than The Deep and it comes out next week, so go look it up now.” She pointed at the camera and mimed throwing a CD at it. Fuck knows what that looked like, but apparently this was what her life boiled down to now. Rose Tyler, does what she’s told.

She’d wanted to call the album Blank Between the Sheets, because she’d had bugger all input into its creation, artistic style, or in fact anything to do with at all except singing on command and then biting her tongue while the tech crew autotuned the living daylights out of her vocals. Her team had started mutely at her, then gone back to doing what they usually did, which was placate her with empty words and do what they wanted.

The reporter was asking another question. “Sorry, what was that?”

“The album, what was your inspiration?”

“Oh…” She tried to remember what she was supposed to say. Something about a journey? About getting older? She was nineteen, no one bought that line. “I have no idea.” She was so tired. Hair and make-up had started at 4.30am, and had done all week. She wasn’t clocking off until eleven tonight after Graham Norton.

The reporter frowned, shuffling slightly closer “Sorry?”

A more experienced reporter would have jumped on her admission, but this one let it hang and eventually her brain kicked into gear and filled in the gaps. She started to speak, letting the sales patter fall off her lips without bothering to rearrange it into her own words. 

Rose Tyler did not care if the eagle eyed fans on You Tube and Twitter noticed her reeling off the same paragraph in interview after interview. If she kept changing her outfit, they might not even notice, and for now the urge to get this thing done was far more important than the rage she’d get later online. 

Maybe she’d just pull her social accounts. 

Or let someone else deal with them. 

The interview wrapped up pretty quickly, less than five minutes, plus ten minutes posing with speech bubbles and funny hats with the reporter before saying goodbye. A couple of quick autographs later she was out the building and Jake wordlessly let her back in her car. 

This one thing Rose had won on. She was travelling alone, just her and mostly silent Jake, who could be trusted to play someone else’s music and leave her alone in the backseat.

Jake was doing his usual stoic act, easing the low slung black estate into the London traffic without comment towards the next interview. Suddenly the silence seemed unbearable, and she leaned through between Jake and the passenger seat to play with his iPod. Picking through his random selection. 

“Vivaldi?” She laughed. “Jake, you dark horse.”

He glanced at her in the rear view mirror, a smirk on his lips. “Classical music made it to Newcastle, y’know.”

“If you say so.” She teased, tapping the iPod against the side of the seat for a moment before impulsively making her choice.

A synthetic drum beat filled the car; overlaid keyboards and the rhythmic low tones of the singer followed slightly after. 

“Why don’t I make good music, Jake?”

She watched him raise one eyebrow in the mirror and consider his response. “I don’t know. Why don’t you?”

Rose slumped back into her seat and narrowed her eyes, chewing her nails. “I don’t know.” The track flipped over to a show tune, and Rose laughed. “Correction - a secretly camp bad horse. Where are we going now?”

“ITV. Then you eat, then the BBC.”

“What do I eat?” She went to flip through her phone before realising someone else still had it. Probably her PA. Her dress had no pockets, and she wasn't allowed to carry anything in interviews.

“They don’t let you choose what to eat?”

“It’s not worth the calories!” Rose trilled, the mocking tone a bit meaner to her mother than she had intended. “Apparently.” She sulked. “I really want a burger, and a milkshake. And chips. I love chips.”

They stopped at a traffic light and Jake twisted in his seat to face her. “Do you want to stop? I’ve got no problem with it.”

She paused, a hundred reasons to say no flitting through her mind; every damn one of them flimsy and abrasive to her soul.

“Yes. I want to stop.”

 

 

The boardroom was basically all glass. Glass walls, glass table. Super high quality, clear plastic Stark Ghost chairs drowned by old white men in suits who overflowed the edges. Interspersed between the men were identikit young women with perfectly coiffed hair. 

Rose was wearing jeans, and a pink shirt that didn’t fit as well as she remembered, so infrequently worn that it was slightly out of style now. The trainers were a particular fuck you to Lillianna her stylist. 

Behind the mess of suits were floor to ceiling windows, open to spectacular views over London. The river and all the hulking skyscrapers scattered around it. Squat buildings that housed fantastic collections of art sat alongside old warehouses, MI5 and tourist landmarks. Trees emerged here and there, giving away the locations of dozens of hidden parks. It was beautiful. It was overwhelming.

The glass was to give the illusion of transparency. Someone had told Rose that the first time she’d walk into that room, someone who’d had her back then and since fallen by the wayside to the madness that was touring hard as an international pop star. 

“Is there something you want to tell us?” Missy was the only older woman on staff, and Rose had seen her draw actual blood with a well timed slap and a chunky ring for much less than the reason this meeting had been called. 

Rose said nothing. She knew she didn’t need to. 

“Because your performance on Graham Norton last night, was pretty… epic.”

For a fraction of a second Rose felt relief, felt her face twitching into a hopeful smile.

“-ly shit.” Missy finished. “What the fuck were you thinking? Were you thinking? Or is it just air, rattling around in there?”

“I don’t like the album. It’s bad, like, really bad. And it has nothing to do with me.” They didn’t realise it, but this was Rose’s last chance.

“We know, you told three million people so.”

“You also told them you lip sync all of your performances.” The voice coach hissed. Rose couldn’t actually remember the voice coach’s name, despite having spent dozens of hours with her.

“Yeah, that’s not going down well online.” 

“Of course it fucking well isn’t. Who wants to know they paid a hundred and fifty quid for VIP tickets to watch their hero pretend to sing?”

Rose felt a bit bad about that actually, it wasn’t something she’d ever been that comfortable with. Certainly not anything she’d ever have confessed to except that there had been quite a few cocktails knocking around in the green room, giggling with the other guests before she’d gone live on air to be interviewed by Graham.

Once again, the fact that Rose had fallen silent had passed unnoticed, she didn’t appear to be necessary for the conversation. It batted around the room without her participation, and after a moment she grabbed the bag at her feet and stood up, slinging it over her shoulder. It was only as the plastic feet of her chair scrapped on the polished wooden floor that anyone even looked towards her. 

“What are you doing?”

“Me?” She waited for the squabbling hoard to slowly turn and face her. “I quit. I already told my lawyers I’m pulling the album. If it gets released I’ll sue you. In the meantime she’s ready to go with dissolving the contracts between us.”

“Do you think you’re the star? Do you think they come to see you? You're _our_ voice, this agency made you – and if you walk out of here now, you’ll be crawling back in six months looking for a second chance. And you won’t fucking get one.”

“You don’t get it. I don’t want a second chance.” Rose took a last look around the room, at the mix of baffled, open mouthed confusion balanced out by cynical eye rolling and under breath mutterings. “When I first walked in here, I was impressed by this room, I was impressed by you. Do you wanna know why? Because I was sixteen! I had no idea what it would be like to work for you; I do now and I know I don’t want this.”

“What are you going to do? Get a job?” The line was delivered with a sneer that Rose was so used to she didn’t even flinch.

“Sure.” She said it with a calm she didn’t completely feel, but a certainty that was absolutely resolute. Rose didn’t know what was next, but she knew this was the right decision. “Because if there’s one thing in this life that I will never, ever do, it’s come back here and lick your arse to get the old job back.”

She let the glass door slam shut behind her on the way out.


	2. Airport

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 27/9 this really should have been two chapters so shuffled them around.

Rose spotted him as soon as she entered the arrivals lounge, his brown suit and dirty white converse standing out against the minimally clothed and sunburnt tourists taking up most of the tiny coastal airport’s space. He stood half turned away from the door as he browsed through the offerings of the little shop – the travel pillows and bags of sweets stacked up next to magazines and bottles of water. A small community rack had second hand books stacked up for swapping and he picked one up to flick through it.

She knew she should go and reintroduce herself, but the joy of anonymity hadn’t worn out and she found herself hanging back, taking off her regulation baseball cap that hid her hair and identity and waited to see if he would recognise her first. 

It was the suit that Rose’d noticed when they first met, one she’d seen dozens of times before, slouching around moody faced in press shoots with rock bands, actors, writers. They’d lined the walls of the toilet in his flat in London and she’d laughed when she saw found them there, imagined the drunk guys that filled the place leaning over the cistern to stare at U2 while they had a piss. He didn’t always wear it, she knew, and though it’s distinctive skinny cut was pretty standard amongst the crowds she ran in those days; the brown and blue stripe was so memorable that it didn’t matter that he only wore the suit half the time, he didn’t seem quite the same without it.

Someone brushed past him and he reflexively turned at the movement, eyes raking through the crowd.

Rose saw the moment he found her, the slow smile that spread across his face and lit up his eyes; seizing her heart with a painfully familiar shot of adoration. It had been hard to explain to herself why she was prepared to give this man a chance, but that smile was no small part of it.

He grabbed the handle of his wheeled bag, dropping the book back on the shelf and weaving his way past some straggling children towards her. “Rose.” He stopped just short of her and paused, arms hanging awkwardly at his sides.

“You’ve seen me naked, Doctor. I think we’re at hug stage.” She hinted, more than a little amused at his reticence. A fraction of a second later and she was enveloped in his arms, crushed close and safe. He was warm and familiar and still smelt the same, overlaid with a little recycled air staleness from the flight. 

“Where do you want to go?” They spoke at the same time, eyes meeting; she bit her lip, before grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the exit. 

He followed willingly.

 

 

Rose hardly let go of the Doctor’s hand as they flew out of the airport and jumped on a bus. He didn’t seem to mind. The bus was stuffed with passengers heading towards the coast and they ended up standing, hands on the rail above their heads as the bus jolted along the patchy road. The Doctor’s other arm slipped around her waist. She didn’t mind either.

Probably, they should talk about this. Talk about the way he’d flown across the world to visit, about whether he had an ulterior motive beyond the obvious. She twisted in his grip, examining the face she’d thought so much about after the last few months. His skin was creamy white, pale from a winter in the UK against the backdrop of tanned locals. He’d put sunglasses on long ago and they obscured her view of his eyes as he glanced around the bus, peering out the window at the riot of pastel coloured buildings shaded by the low slung tile roofs and spiky trees that the bus was forced to squeeze past. The airport was set high over the city, and each turn revealed glimpses of the pearly blue ocean and crashing waves under a cloudless azure sky. He glanced down, grinning happily at the landscape and the sunglasses slipped down his slim nose slightly. She reached up to push them back into place for him. “It’s beautiful.” He murmured. 

Rose nodded, brushing her lips with her fingers as she struggled with how much to tell him. “It is, incredibly, plus it hardly ever rains.”

“Honestly, take you out of England and you’re still moaning about the weather.” The Doctor’s smile was teasing and she raised an arch eyebrow in response, equally amused.

“I think you’ll find; I took _you_ out of England to moan about the weather.”

His attention was elsewhere already, going back to looking out of the window and pointing at a red and yellow hang glider soaring in the currents down the steep hills and over towards the ocean. “Let’s do that!”

“What, now?” Her gaze flicked between the glider and his excited face, trying to work out if he was joking.

He let go of the bar above their heads and started hustling her towards the front of the bus. “Yeah, why not?”

They got off the bus. Heaving the little suitcase out of the luggage rack and jumping off at the next stop to run back up the hill, darting between fast-talking locals and dawdling tourists as they went. He stopped every few feet; pausing at a fruit stall to buy them each a large chunk of watermelon, then further up to examine a table covered in intricately carved idols. She enjoyed watching him. Enjoyed his joy in the tiny details, turning regularly to show her the way something was painted, or a clay statue hidden high up by a chimney pot. Each smile transformed his face from his naturally pensive expression to something alive with interest, tiny quirks of his eyebrows giving away his brain cataloguing every minute detail for later use. 

Eventually a map appeared, just a simple paper thing, tacked up on a notice board and hidden under glass off to one side at a crossroads. The crossing was clogged with vintage scooters and brand new oversized four-by-fours, every way she looked overly crammed with people. The gliding centre was marked on the map, three miles trek up hill. “Do you really want to?” Rose asked. “I’m not exactly dressed for a hike.” She frowned down at her flip flops and denim cut off skirt below a casual t-shirt. 

They made an odd pair, Rose suddenly realised, him still formally dressed and her rocking the holiday look. He checked her out, eyebrows twisting into an amused, knowing look. 

She thumped him on the arm. “Oh, you are a bastard sometimes.” 

“I just wanted to look around.” He shrugged. One hand found her hair and he teased his fingers through it, his smile a little more wistful. “And you look beautiful in the sunlight.”

She leaned up, running on nothing but impulse as she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “So do you.” 

Pulling back before he could take things further, or not, as the case may be; she spun around and tried to get her bearings. “Ohh, I know where we are. There’s a great little champagne and ice cream place around the corner.”

Those eyebrows quirked once more and Rose fought the urge to kiss them too. She’d forgotten how much she missed his expressive face, a face that so willingly gave so much away. “Ice cream…” He queried.

“And champagne.” She confirmed. “In big glass floats, like coca-cola ones. Only way better.” Grabbing his hand they headed towards the crossing, Rose leading him across the road as soon as the traffic thinned slightly, dodging past a light-up rickshaw and a beaten up Toyota truck to get onto the palm-tree lined path on the other side. He took every swerve with his usual aplomb; never looking anything more than completely calm and collected as he grabbed at the case’s handle and whipped it out of the way of an oncoming cyclist as they rushed through the bike lane. 

This side of the road offered a better view of the coastline curving below them, red roofed houses cluttered in clumps around the golden sand and the tiny multicoloured drops of people milling around. The spots of colour were strewn around the beach in a perfect sprawl, gathered closest around the blue squares of the life guard stations, like bees around flowers. 

Rose tugged gently at his hand again, leading him down a winding narrow side street, where bollards blocked traffic from the shiny paved district, and tiny shops were bedecked by hanging baskets that overflowed with red and orange blooms. Quick glances through the windows made it clear that the area was getting more expensive as they walked through it; sandwich bars giving way to fashion boutiques, artisan cheese and jewellery that dripped with sparkling diamonds. The place Rose was heading for was about half way along, it’s narrow front nothing more than an ice cream shop, though the pink and white neon sign declared it the I Scream Bar. 

A family of sunburnt tourists dawdled at the counter, translating the children’s orders into English for the man behind the bar and Rose squeezed past the couple of empty stainless steel tables to hang back, guiding them into a position away from the large front window and near the staff exit at the back. Beside her, the Doctor had dropped his suitcase to the floor and stepped forward to examine the chalkboard displays of available flavours, mouth hanging slightly open. 

It was a damn sight more choice than you got at home. 

The family left, and Rose smiled at the happy children, returning their excited little wave and pointing fingers as they spotted her on their way out the door.

Behind the bar, Adam wiped his hands on a cloth, stripping off his disposable gloves to throw them away and tapping some details into the till. He glanced up at her smiling warmly in greeting. “No Jack today?” 

“Not today.” She confirmed. “We okay to go up?”

Adam leaned down to hit the buzzer under the bar. “Go for it.” 

Nudging the Doctor with her elbow she pointed towards the staff door and he shot her an irrepressible grin as she led him through the aged pink painted staff door. “How did you find out about this place?”

“Jack, he’s my neighbour. I’ll introduce you later.” 

 


	3. Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 27/9 - I posted this as part of the last chapter on Sunday, but it really works much better as two and was annoying me so I've split it in half. Apologies to subscribers! 
> 
> Next actual chapter will be posted next Sunday as usual.

The world on the other side of the door was exactly the service corridor you would expect. Narrow, with chipped white walls and a series of unmarked doors down its length. Rose went through the third one on the left, revealing a curving staircase and the low hum of voices over music that spilled down towards them. The music was not what he’d expected, Ed Sheeran blasting from some kind of tinny speaker.

Rose must have clocked the song choice at the same time, because she glanced down at him, smiling wildly, hair falling in front of her face in the dim light of the staircase. “Remember the Brits?” 

The Doctor had forgotten how effortlessly attractive she was. No, not forgotten, but convinced his memories had exaggerated. That his manic memories of her funny, adventurous brilliance had become gilded and embellished with time. 

“Did anyone ever find out how Russell got those eggs in?”

Rose was beautiful that night too, her golden dress so heavy with sequins and crystals it probably could have stood up by itself. She’d sparkled in the spotlight, not nominated for anything but completely happy to sit in the crowd and cheer on other musicians' success at the award show. They'd ended up on the same table because he was working for her record label with a different band; sitting together in a mutual effort to avoid having to make small talk with the execs. Then taken a taxi to the after party together, already both very drunk and hysterically giggling.

The next day her label had paid to suppress the paps photographs.

Rose disappeared from view, rounding the corner at the stop of the stairs. A spill of orange light and the low buzz of conversation filled the space and he hurried up the last few steps, case still being lugged behind. He was glad he’d packed light. 

A man with overly styled spikey hair was leaning over a gleaming bar, every surface coated in beaten copper that shone in the low light, his head ducked under the hanging shelf above and twisted towards Rose. The man laughed and joked with her, skin slightly flushed and eyes sparkling, a star struck look that regularly appeared when people clocked who Rose really was, though this was a little different. The easy companionship of someone who knew Rose well and still thought she hung the moon.

The Doctor had seen photographs of himself, looking the same. He wasn't sure how he looked now, who Rose was either.

That cautious half smile was back playing across Rose's face as she turned to face him, her lips slightly swollen and reddened where she’d obviously been chewing them moments ago. 

Was there any other possible response than to match that look with his own? The bar space was narrow and the Doctor paused at the top of the stairs, enjoying seeing Rose in what was clearly a familiar, comfortable haunt. She widened her eyes slightly, jerking her head in an unsubtle hint to move. He feigned interest in the venue as cover, glancing around at the squashed comfortable sofas and high copper coated bar stools. 

In one corner a foursome of heavily tattoo’d young surfer looking guys were playing bridge around a circular wooden table. The wall next to them was covered in hooks and a selection of completely random vintage hats hung off them; Stetson, bowler and faded paper party hats interspersed with black and white travelling fair photos. Just beyond them were more tables and a simple series of narrow windows that allowed light in and distant glimpses of the ocean and landscape beyond but no chance of anyone seeing in. 

He could see why Rose liked it. It was silly and fun and completely private. Also the man behind the bar seemed incredibly familiar, as though his slightly round face had appeared somewhere else in a different context.

Two large ice cream sundae glasses appeared at Rose’s elbow and he found himself gravitated towards them. The glasses were actual glass; no, crystal, delicately cut and clearly heavy. “Usual spot?” The man asked cheerfully, his words giving away a strong Geordie accent and a dose of déjà vu that was definitely not local. Rose nodded, murmuring her thanks as she looped her arm in the Doctor’s and lead him towards a couple of slouchy sofas at the very front of the bar, right by the rectangular windows. 

“There you go.” The man nodded politely as they sat, splaying his hands wide in a welcoming move as Rose plonked down beside the Doctor on the couch facing the window. “I’m Jake. If you need anything at all, just let me know.” 

“Thanks.” Rose smiled, genuinely and the Doctor surged forward in his chair, leaning over her to grab Jake’s hand and shake it quickly.

“Jake! How did you end up here?”

Jake laughed as he backed away, “Rose’ll explain. I’m impressed you recognised me though Doc.” Shaking his head in amusement Jake headed to the bridge players and exchanged a few quick words with them before heading back to the bar.

"No more driving? He seems... happy."

Rose rolled her eyes dismissively at Jake’s back. “He wanted a change, I offered a startup fund and help with the visa process if he’d start a really great bar in my neighbourhood. No biggie.” 

“Starter fund, huh.” He tried not to analyse his thoughts about Jake too deeply. He knew there was nothing more than friendship there, but it still stung slightly to see Jake here so very at home with Rose.

“Try it.” She insisted, nodding towards their dessert/drink combo things.

The first bite of ice-cream was a shock to the senses; silky and sweet with the subtle fizzing buzz of the champagne further down the glass. “Rose Tyler… you always turn up in the best places,” the Doctor laughed and she ducked her head shyly, elbowing him with faux chagrin. Somehow the move left them closer together, pressed side to side as they clutched their ice cream floats and sipped the hidden champagne.

“Can you imagine how enraged the Daily Mail would be if they found out there was a bar where you can drink champagne through a straw?” They dissolved into giggles, any slight tension forgotten. 

“Oh. The Daily Mail. I do not miss them. Do they still think I’m going to die of alcohol poisoning lost and forgotten?” She mused, eating her ice cream with gusto and a small plastic spoon. 

“Last article they quoted Bridget Jones.”

Rose closed her eyes, face scrunched as she considered the probable options before snapping her eyes open and giving a short Ha of Eureka. “ _‘…I’d finally die, fat and alone and be found three weeks later, half eaten by wild dogs?'_ ” 

He nodded grimly.

“I’m twenty-two and perfectly healthy, so obviously that makes total sense.” Rose rolled her eyes, and the Doctor was pleased she didn’t seem at all bothered. Time away had been good for her, even if the press didn’t think so.

“They’re just annoyed you won’t play ball.”

She twisted her lips into a wry smile. “When you’re a kid, dreaming about being famous, no one tells you about this shit.”

“No.” The Doctor agreed. The opportunity to ask why she’d called was now, but the words didn’t want to appear, trapped behind his lips unspoken. He was aware that as soon as he said them it wouldn’t be friends reuniting anymore, but business. He wasn’t sure he wanted Rose to be business, even if it did mean he got to see her again. Which was more than anyone else they used to know had got. He felt horribly tongue-tied, a painful new reality he wasn't particularly au fait with. He was 

good

at words. Normally.

“You called my mum.” Rose prompted.

“Yeah.” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “I saw you’d been in hospital. Just wanted to know you were okay.” 

He paused and she eyed him hesitantly, sucking the inside of one cheek as she considered her words. “I’m okay, it was nothing serious.”

“Good. I know it’s been… years. But I care about you.” It felt painful to admit how long it had been since they’d sat together chatting without a transatlantic barrier between them.

Rose nodded, staring at her glass as she avoided his eyes. “I know." She brushed her thumb against the thick lip of her glass deliberately. "I’m sorry I didn’t come back when I said I would.”

He’d seen her a lot after her abrupt split with her record company. Rose had stayed in London for a while, but the whole thing had been leaked to the tabloids who raged at her in print for weeks. Calling her ungrateful and questioning her mental health and sobriety. Rose’d tried to keep things normal for a while, celebrating a clean slate with parties that started in exclusive clubs and ended three days later when someone got fed up with them cluttering up their flat. Every street corner cigarette or stumbling drunken hug between friends got plastered over the front pages while The Sun started a countdown clock to her inevitable check-in to rehab. 

Rehab was never necessary. But one night they’d sat together on Primrose Hill, Rose wrapped in his coat against the early morning chill; watching the sun come up behind the backdrop of skyscrapers and city lights as they waited for the shops to open and a decent breakfast. In whispered conversation between covert kisses, Rose had decided she needed to leave town for a while, be alone while she worked out for sure what she wanted to do next. She’d be back. 

For three years he’d heard nothing more than bi-weekly texts. Pictures of beautiful things she’d found as she wandered around the world and eventually settled down near the border between California and Mexico. The press knew where she was, it was impossible to completely hide, but eventually they’d lost interest. Rose Tyler was no more than an intriguing footnote to pop history. The pop princess who’d spectacularly quit and disappeared from public life.

“I understand.” 

Rationally he did, at least. Even if he’d been miserable in her absence, desperate to just turn up uninvited and claim her as his again. 

Rose shook her head. “I don’t think you can. But if I’d stayed I would have just got swept into some other very public career straight away, done the reality TV thing maybe. Even you…” She looked away. “I loved being with you, but this.” She waved her hands emphatically. “It’s never been the same for you. I needed time to do all the growing up I should have done when I was a teenager. I can cook now,” she laughed. “And pay bills, and organise my own travel plans. I know which bands I like, and I can talk about it without causing offence. I put on two stone and nobody cares.”

“I feel… I feel happy now.” She said the words like it was an act of catharsis, like despite years since her last press interview telling the truth still felt like a incalculable risk. 

The Doctor smiled at her wryly, hoping his words sounded less pained and whiny than he felt. “I thought we were pretty happy.”

Her fingers found his again. Squeezing them reassuringly and he stopped himself from turning away as she brought her other hand up to run along his cheek, her pale brown and gold eyes fixed on his own. “Oh shut up, of course we were. You have no idea how many times I nearly called you. But I needed to be happy alone too, you got the head start on that.” Her eyes flipped down to their clutched hands in her lap, hiding the vulnerable shine that spoke of almost shed tears.

The Doctor dropped his head those last few inches, let his lips brush hers and felt her fingers abandon his own as she found the back of his neck to pull him closer, turning back to him as she chased his soft kiss with a harder one. He’d missed this so much. Missed his hands at her waist and in her hair, missed the intoxicating smell, touch, taste of being surrounded by her and every sense thrumming with the joy of being alive with Rose and the moment. She withdrew, breathing heavily and he pressed his forehead against hers. “I missed you so much, Rose.”

Rose smiled giddily. Pressing a quick series of kisses to his lips as though she couldn’t quite let go of the opportunity to do so yet, each one stoking the fire that had ignited in the back of his mind, burning just as hot and hard as it always had around her. “I missed you too.”

“Why did you call me now? It’s been three years.” He knew he shouldn’t push it, but he had to ask. Had to know if this was just going to be a few weeks of madness before he was abandoned again.

“I told you, I’m ready now.” She shot him a tongue touched smile. “And I need your help.”


	4. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the kudos and subscriptions. Hope everyone is enjoying this, please do leave a comment, I love them! 
> 
> The E rating kicks in now, warnings for smut :D

Rose’s home was a condo near the beach. A white concrete and glass affair half hidden by a long wall, it blended seamlessly in with the others along the coast road. The air didn’t smell as strongly of fish and salt as the British sea breezes the Doctor was used to, and the rush of the waves back and forth in the dark was little more than gentle lapping up the shallow cove beach. It was dark when they stumbled towards the house, the wheeled suitcase rather worse for wear from being pulled on and off public transport all day; one wheel rattling ominously. 

“D’y’know, that’s the first time I’ve had bananas and champagne together – I mean, I never even considered the possibility. But now…” The Doctor paused staring into the huge glass windows of a neighbouring house, its complete lack of blinds or curtains leaving every inch of it’s Scandi inspired interior completely on display. 

Rose tugged at his hand. “Stop staring.”

“But it’s all lit up, right by the beach. In 1879 when they first lit up Blackpool Promenade with carbon arc lamps nobody said ‘stop staring’…” He trailed off. “Hang on, that means bloody Blackpool invented light bulbs before Edison did.” 

“Suppose so.” She replied diplomatically, finally succeeding in guiding him past the house before its owners got suspicious. 

“Though there _are_ design differences between the two.” He mused, stumbling slightly over his feet. 

“Ahuh.” Rose agreed absently, stopping at a gate to tap her security code into a control pad. There was a drive, but instead of moving towards the main gate Rose waited for the electronic click of a small side door unlocking, and lead the Doctor through to the other side of the wall. 

As soon as they came through the gate a series of gently glowing lamps flickered on, strung around the walls and paths like fireflies guiding the way. The house was not as large as he might have imagined, though the style was certainly imposing. The sheer walls and reflective glass rose together in a series of blocky cubes, huddled around a large central square. The garden at the front was mostly paved, scattered with potted plants and citrus trees that turned what could have been a dry scrubby yard into a sculpted, elegant garden, entirely cut off from the beach by a high wall. 

“Grass doesn’t really work over here, too many droughts.” Rose explained. 

“It’s beautiful.” The Doctor wandered off the path immediately, brushing his fingers over the waxy leaves of succulent plants and breathing in the heady scent of the night blooming jasmine. “I didn’t know you were a gardener.”

“I didn’t know I liked gardening until I started.” Rose followed him, a modest smile dancing across her features as she watched him. “Plus, it’s worth it not to be staring at bare walls all the time.”

“Yeah, definitely.” He agreed, shoving his hands in his pockets and staring up through the overarching palm trees at the night sky. 

A scuffing of flipflops on the paving slabs gave away Rose’s movements as she cuddled into his side, throwing one arm around his waist and leaning her messy haired head against his shoulder. “The stars are different here.” Her voice reverberated low against his chest, stirring something deep and familiar that cleared some of the drunken fog from his mind and replaced it with melancholic lust.

He shook his head. “We’re just looking at them from different angles.”

She laughed and the metaphor struck him too late, scrunching his face at hers bashfully. “Come on, I’ll show you the inside.”

The front door also required a security code to get through and yet another to confirm on the other side and Rose keyed them in impatiently. A jolting realisation reminded the Doctor that this place was probably the only one she’d ever lived in alone. “Do you always remember to lock all these?”

Rose didn't hear, or was ignoring him. She hung her jacket on an old antique hat stand by the door; toeing off her flip flops and abandoning them where they lay. He followed suit as she padded over to yet another touch screen control. This one operated the lights, which luminesced instantly around them. A short wall blocked the entrance area from the main downstairs space and Rose’s fingers found his as she guided him wordlessly past it into the living area. Everything was white, a blank canvas brightened at random with pieces of art and a bright pink sofa. The lights turned out to be a ragtag selection of lamps and spotlights, some clearly refashioned out of old copper pipes or staging lamps, while others were recessed in the walls, completely invisible bar the glow they emitted. Nothing matched.

Pride of place in the centre of a huddle of sofas and chairs was the battered old white leather bench seat from her last tour bus. 

“You kept it!” 

Rose grinned at him. “Course.”

The Doctor's hands slipped around her waist and he drew Rose closer for a kiss. “I seem to recall some excellent, excellent memories of that bench.” He felt her giggle breathlessly against his lips and couldn’t help but smirk in return, childish urges taking over as he pulled her tighter and lifted her off her feet, face buried in her hair. She smelled the same, same perfume mixed up with the sugary sweetness of the I Scream Bar and the subtle dull scent of a sneaked cigarette.

“I knew you still smoked. Liar.” He teased and she slapped his back gently until he dropped her to the ground and they stumbled towards the old bench. It was even less comfortable than he remembered, the padding flattened and lumpy and spilling out under gaffer patched holes. The metal frame creaked under the weight of them both as she curled up beside him, Lying on her back with her feet kicked up on one arm and her head in his lap as she shifted around to curl into him, playing with the buttons on his shirt. 

“What did you lie about?” Rose avoided his eyes, seemingly intent on watching her fingers move and the play of the light from the random lamps across his wrinkled shirt. 

“I never lie to you.” He watched her sceptical face, half her makeup rubbed off from their frenzied snogging session in the Uber. There was something enchanting about the bare fragility of her expression, something that made it impossible to lie, even if he wanted to. 

She slipped one button loose and moved across to kiss the square of belly that was revealed. “Excellent answer.”

The next button was open, and the next; she changed her position so she could swipe her hot tongue over the exposed skin, an amazing, torturous glimpse of the exploration he wanted to do.

He let his head fall back as he resisted the urge to hurry her, drag her back to his lips. “What else have you lied about?”

She paused, twisting around to throw one leg over his thighs and sit in his lap; hovering over him - balance tipped, the next button caught between thumb and forefinger. “I saw Mickey a few times after I left London. We’re officially overlap free.” The button slipped from its hole and she tugged his shirt open wide. Hands splayed across his bare skin as she let her hands curve around the sides of his chest and rub the pad of her thumbs against his nipples. 

He hissed, shivering in pleasure at the long overdue skin to skin contact. “You said that was over four years ago.”

Her lips twisted into a guilty frown, one hand abandoning his chest to tug at her hair. “It was.”

“Just not officially. It was hard to miss you taking him to award shows.”

Rose huffed, rocking back against the chair with her heels so that yawning space opened up between them. Both Rose’s hands abandoned his chest to fold against her own and their absence left the Doctor cold and irritated with himself. “Sorry, that was rude. I know Missy insisted...”

She didn’t let him finish. “Mickey and me, we were hardly even talking when I met you, he was being a decent mate showing up to events so I didn’t get hassled too much by the press. And he always knew about us, you know. When I saw him last we talked about the first time he met you. You called him Mickey the Idiot for four hours, then we fucked in your car on the way back to your flat while he went home alone. So, yeah, I had to wait for a good time to end things officially in person, we owed him that.”

The Doctor scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “Yeah. That was - sorry.” He slid his hands up her hips, over the denim skirt bunched around the top of her thighs. “Really, I’m sorry Rose. I was…” He had no idea how to end that sentence.

He knew how Rose had been then. Lost and lonely in a brutally superficial world she hadn’t been ready for or really wanted; still relentlessly funny and inquisitive and incredibly kind against all odds.

She complained being famous was different for him and it was. Artists were his friends, he was their career fixer – not the kind that handled press and clothes and not causing offence on chat shows. But eeking a few more classic hits out of ageing rockers at the end of their creative rope. A life sat behind the glass walls and control panels of Abbey Road studios, inspiring enough passion and hope in panicky newbies to turn turgid love songs written on the back of envelopes into weeks of number ones. He wasn’t ever top of any paparazzi’s target list. No one cared how much he weighed, he didn’t have to keep anything secret or risk loosing his job. Some bands had loved dragging him to interviews, showering him with praise to deflect attention away from themselves, or demanding they party together to help him get the vibe they were looking for. He hung the star-studded photos of his work and social life in the toilet under the stairs and ran a sideline inventing new sound equipment. It wasn’t a perfect life, but he was happy.

Rose was not happy then. She was not pleased now either based on the glower.

"When I met you..." Words floundered.

When he met Rose she was miserable, heavy dark bags under her eyes visibly marking her lack of sleep and an oversized jumper hiding her too thin frame. She hugged one arm with the other as she wandered into the studio, unimpressed with the legendary space that had provided so many with success. She didn’t like the songs the record label wanted to use and neither did the Doctor. When the suits disappeared for lunch they sat at the grand piano and threw together something haunting and wild, giggling over punk references and their matching dirty converse. The tiny glimpse of real Rose had been intoxicating.

"...met you." She prompted.

He hadn't seen it again for a while. They both spent most of their life on planes zooming between time zones, locked in gigs or interviews or studios far more frequently than their brief minutes breathing free air. She sought him out first, grabbed his hand when they passed by chance in the corridor of a hotel in Dubai and dragged him off to the kitchens to help a miserable looking girl sneak out undetected. They were snapped at Glastonbury, streaked with mud and leaning on each other as they ate their way through all the street food between one stage and another. Hot and heavy kisses in dark clubs turned into stolen weekends and sex so intense he craved her every moment they spent apart. 

Rose was still staring at him uncertainly, still perched in his lap. He let his hands slide further upwards from her hips, skimming over the soft cotton of her t-shirt to slide around her back as he tried to recreate the closeness of a few moments before, mapping out the freckles in her eyes onto his soul. “I’ve had years without you to think about this Rose, I took you for granted. I’m not going to do that again.” He tugged her closer, so close her warm breath puffed against his lips, her hips rolling forward to grind against him as she propped herself up against the back of the chair, arms either side of his shoulders. 

The tabloids realised what they were doing eventually. Rose was followed so relentlessly it was let the secret out or call it off. Technically Rose was meant to be engaged to clean cut wholesome Mickey. Fans got angry. Spewing words of hate arrived at Rose’s flat in violently pink envelopes that she read even when the Doctor begged her not to, desperate to rid her of the haunted stalked look that settled in the back of her eyes and left her in stewing silence, her movements slow and awkward. Other days she would flip totally, dismissing negative headlines with bursts of intense partying that blew away the hate with drunken dancing and drugs that kept them up all night, lost to anything but each other.

“How long are you staying?” She whispered the words against his cheek, head turned away slightly and he wondered what she was thinking, what she wanted. Which Rose?

He knew what he wanted. “Forever.” 

She laughed, a rush of giggling air punctuated with kisses against his cheek and lips. 

“Are you leaving me again?” His voice wavered slightly, and he hated himself for his fear and hesitation, his distrust that she was really serious.

“Never.” She reassured him, all brilliant shining eyes and the small serious smile that caught his breath in his throat and slowed his thoughts to nothing but her and him and removing the last bit of distance between them.

He tugged at the hem of her shirt and she lifted her arms obediently as he pulled it off over her head. The cotton drew over her skin slowly, revealing delicious glimpses of golden softly tanned skin and a lacy purple bra. With a last tug her hair flopped down through the neck hole, flying rumpled around her shoulders in a sun bleached blonde spray. She threw the shirt to one side to crumple discarded on the floor. His shirt followed moments later, the soft warmth of their bare chests pressed together sending bolts of electric desire shooting through him as he leaned forward and shucked his arms from the sleeves, tearing the last couple of buttons at his waist in his haste to get rid of the scrap of fabric. He clutched her desperately, hands threaded through her hair as she ran her finger tips along the skin of his back and rained hungry kisses across his lips, his mouth opened to hers, tongues touching in tiny harried movements that betrayed his desperate need to be inside her any way she was willing. 

The Doctor abandoned her hair to find the clasp of her bra, struggling briefly as he refused to stop kissing her; concentrate on the task in hand. Rose giggled against his lips stilling his hands and taking over in a fluid movement that made him entirely jealous. “If you don’t let me practice,” he grumbled. “I’ll never work it out.”

She shook her head, groaning as he let his hands replace the bra, feeling the weight of her breasts against his hands after so long and earning a shiver of satisfaction in return. “Lessons later. I need you now.”

Rose slid off his lap and tugged him up to his feet as she grabbed at the top of his fly with greedy fingers. He let her fumble; deliberately distracted her in turn by cradling her head in his hands and focusing all his attention on kissing her so thoroughly she was a puddle of goo incapable of manipulating a zip. She shuddered against his lips, her nipples pebbling as they brushed against the soft scattered hairs of his chest, until her falling fingers brushed against his trapped cock. The jolt of sudden pleasure at the contact left him gasping and he found her skirt, shoving it and her flimsy pants down off her hips without looking, letting his hands explore the newly exposed soft flesh of her bum with a happy sigh. He broke the kiss just long enough for Rose to glance down and work out his trousers, before she pulled his boxers forward with a curled finger to free him, bunching the fabric together as she shoved it down his legs. He kicked his trousers off impatiently, groaning as her fingers found his cock, squeezing him gently as she slid his length along her palm, thumb dancing over the sensitive spot at the tip before repeating the movement, leaning up on her toes to run one long lick along his clavicle. 

The Doctor wrapped his arms around Rose, steadying himself against her as he convulsed with pleasure that threatened to have him buckling at the knees before he even got a chance to worship her the way he’d wanted. He spun them around carefully, guiding her back towards the leather seat and nudging her gently into a sitting position. He kneeled in front of her, sliding between her legs and leaning over her body to press kisses against her neck and explore her breasts with his hands. Quickly he found her pulse, that little section of sunshine tasting skin at her neck that licked just so made her gasp and arch towards him, seeking more contact. His fingers brushed her nipples, smiling against her skin as she sighed at the lightest touch, pressing herself closer. He trailed kisses lower, letting his lips replace one hand to lick one dusky nub and nurse groans and sighs from her lips as he pinched and rolled the other. One bare thigh wrapped below his shoulders, trying to clutch him closer while her hands surged through his hair. Grabbing and releasing clumps of hair with every shuddering sigh. 

He let her flesh drop from his lips, shuffling down her belly in search of more skin to explore but she grabbed at his shoulders, pulling him up until he was climbing onto the bench and hovering above her. “I want you, now.” She reminded him, face flushed and swollen lips that drew him to her irresistibly, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips, a soothing reminder that he was here to stay, to be what she needed, for a while at least. 

He shifted, pressing himself between her thighs and groaning at the red hot feel of such intimate contact. “Condom.” He growled in frustration, leaning his forehead against hers as she waved vaguely towards the floor. 

“Skirt pocket.”

He grinned, propping himself up slightly to look around and try and locate the wayward skirt. “You always travel prepared?”

“Only for you.” She shot him that cheeky tongue touched smile. “We were never very good at waiting until we got home.”

He laughed as he lunged for the scrap of denim just in reach of the bench, not prepared to leave his position between her thighs. The rough fabric caught between his fingers and he let out a grunt of satisfaction as he scooped it towards them and leaned back on his heels as he rooted through her pockets. “That cupboard at Radio 1…” he reminded her and she smiled lazily at him, fingers dancing along his thighs and eyes on the short skirt as memories shot unspoken between them. 

“Good times.” She breathed, watching with hungry eyes as he ripped the packet open, palming himself a few times before sheathing his cock and pulling back to position himself against her again. It didn’t feel quite as intense, but the difference was infinitesimal and so worth it. He leaned back over her, settling a few kisses along her jaw as he let his fingers find the apex of her thighs, gently exploring and listening to her scattered sighs, honing in on the subtlest distinction of sound that told him where she liked to be touched the most, rubbing gently against the left side of her clit as she squirmed against him. His heart pulsed in his chest, cock twitching painfully in anticipation of seeking home inside of her. 

That’s what it felt like, he lined up their thighs, glancing up to check she was still along for the ride as he slid inside her, kissing her neck as she clutched him with her hands and legs, dragging him down impatiently, needing him as deep as possible as much as he did. For a moment, he remembered a strange lyric from a song he’d worked on; wanting to be with someone so intensely it was like wanting to crawl inside them, to be joined so completely there was no telling where you started and they began. 

Didn’t seem so crazy right now. 

He paused, catching his control before it ran away with him, the intensity of needing this woman unlike anything he’d ever felt with anyone else. He ground his hips against her, sliding his hands under her arse, unable to resist squeezing the velvety skin as he adjusted her position until each draw of his hips nudged against the hidden bundle of nerves inside her and elicited a tortured moan from her lips. He concentrated on her, finding her clit and brushing against it as he rocked inside her, propped up over her with his one free arm to watch her writhe beneath him, sweat pooling against her top lip and collar bone as she stretched out, fighting past the urge to run and falling over the precipice into an orgasm that shook through her suddenly, arching and shaking as she spasmed around his cock, rocking shocks of pleasure through his body, his name on her lips. 

Rose lay limply, and he stilled his movements to imprint her post-orgasmic glow to memory; her eyes rolling unseeingly as she pressed one hand against her forehead, slicking her sweaty hair away from her face. A moment later she was raising her knees beside his hips, coaxing him back into movement. Teasingly he withdrew slightly and she sighed close to his ear, fingers running through the thick strands of his hair as she clutched him close and showered him with compliments. 

The steady build of pleasure drove his actions as he felt her wind up again around him, lost in the sensations surrounding them the completeness he felt in her arms. Glowing heat grew in his belly, shooting from his groin across every inch of his skin. He couldn’t put it off much longer, and he tried to savour the moment, to spot the colour changing freckles in her irises as his movements became jerky and uncontrolled, panting against her neck as she urged him on with soft kisses and grasping fingers. 

His orgasm slammed through him like a freight train, bursting through his brain in a shattering of stars that left him temporarily blind, collapsing against Rose as he clutched her closer, mangled words streaming from his lips as he sought to explain just how fucking good he was feeling right now, lost in the midst of this second chance with her. 

He thought it sounded like “home.”

He had no idea what she heard.


	5. Kitchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one needs an even bigger lateness apology than Publish! So sorry, purely because I have been crazily busy. Things much calmer now.

In daylight, Rose’s home was much bigger than the Doctor had realised. The wall of glass that dominated most of the front of the house worked with the white walls, reflecting the bright California sunshine towards the small kitchen area at the back. 

It was obvious why Rose’d taken up gardening now, while the upstairs bedroom windows gave stunning views out across the sparkling ocean and up the coast, the privacy of the walled front yard and parking space blocked the ocean from sight and offered only a small shaded space. It could have been dull, nothing more than car storage, instead it had been turned into a riot of colour; a mass of green and yellow foliage that bloomed with huge red and orange flowers and hung around the windows like curtains before curling across the garden in winding paths. 

Automatically the pair had defaulted to their old breakfast roles; Rose perched on the edge of the dark wooden counter top in nothing more than pants and a faded and oversized Beatles shirt that dwarfed her body, sat picking at grapes and blueberries from an open fruit bowl while she flipped through her phone. The Doctor clanged his way around the kitchen, resplendent in cotton PJs, no slippers and hair stuck up all over the place; opening cupboards blindly and muttering about her sense of organisation as he searched for flour and frying pans. 

“Honestly Rose, if you’re going to mix utensils and food, couldn’t you at least do it alphabetically?”

“Trust me, it’s only you that thinks spatulas, spaghetti and a scale model of sputnik make sense together. Fruit bowls and apples near the sink are completely logical to the rest of the world.”

He quirked one eyebrow, lips set in a challenging half smirk. “Rest of-”

“Fine, most of.” She corrected, dragging her fingers through her messy hair in a half-hearted attempt at taming the wild strands before raising her arms above her head in a languid yawn.

He finally found the larder, pulling out the heavy sliding wall of food with a ‘ha!’ of victory. Eggs were rapidly and haphazardly pilled up in the Doctor’s arms as he zoomed around, trying to remember where he’d just seen the bowls. Pulling open a drawer near the hob he paused, juggling the eggs awkwardly into one arm as he grabbed hold of something unexpected and pulled it out.

“Why is your toaster in a drawer?”

“It’s California. No one eats bread.”

The Doctor turned at stared at her, mouth half open as he tried to digest the news. “Why not?”

“Carbs are evil, apparently, same for gluten. You should have seen it when I moved in. Got an introductory lecture on the intestine clogging properties of refined polysaccharides from the woman four doors down after she saw a croissant in my shopping bag.” Rose leaned forward, hands braced against the edge of the counter, legs kicking out idly. “Hey, I still eat bread, I just hide the toaster in case its presence causes some kind of traumatic doughy-goodness related relapse in a visitor." He stared at her, clearly still mystified and her nose twitched as she tried to suppress her grin. "Just being hospitable.”

“Huh.” He dropped the toaster back in place with a gently clunk then nudged the soft close drawer shut, clearly distracted by this startling news. “But carbohydrates are perfectly fine as part of a-”

“Doctor…” Rose sighed, leaning back and fidgeting with the hem of the shirt where it lay against her lap. “Seriously, there’s no point arguing with the breadphobic. It’s a smile and nod situation. Kind of like the Powell estate and bus timetables.”

An insincere smile was plastered across the Doctor’s face, accompanied by a halting, hesitant nod. He’d pulled exactly that face at her Mum once, caught misbehaving in the kitchen backstage at an award show; he’d pretended to be contrite then grabbed Rose and told her to run. The memory burned through her brain, the crisp charcoal sent of toast from the all night café in Walthamstow where they'd ended up. Hiding their formal clothes behind hastily procured raincoats, swapped with a bemused couple on the night bus in exchange for the Doctor’s fancy watch. 

Rose giggled childishly at his faux expression and threw grapes at him until he broke character, dodging the flying fruit as he spun around to deposit the half dozen eggs cradled in his arms safely in to the frying pan that rested by the hob. He was ridiculous and silly and showing off - they were ridiculous, and she loved it. Out of grapes to chuck she stuck out her tongue; now unencumbered by the eggs he swiftly crossed the room, sliding between her knees to wrap her in a full bodied hug that took her breath away and tickled her mercilessly. “Stop it!” She squealed, slapping his shoulder until he gave in, pulling back to meet her gaze with a more, but not quite completely, apologetic grin. 

“Sorry.” The Doctor let his hands drop from her sides to rest against the counter and pressed a kiss to her nose. “…And I give up. Where did you put the flour?”

Now Rose had him so close, letting him go seemed unspeakably wrong. If they hadn’t both been ravenously starving they’d probably have stayed in bed all day, catching up on years of missed stories and sex. One bare leg snaked around the back of his pyjama clad knee, holding him in place as she looped her arms loosely around his shoulders. “Flour is in the pantry; jar behind the raisins.”

“Thank you.” She wrapped her legs around his waist as he tried to step away, pulling tight against the pressure of his movements as she shot him a tongue touched smile. 

“Were you planning on letting me go?”

“Um… Nope. Why would I do that?” Rose let one hand slide down his chest, feeling the strength of his wiry form under the soft cotton of his top, one finger at a time she fisted the fabric at his belly, tugging him closer until their lips met, every soft press was still electric – a subtle surge of chemistry that soared under her skin and made her toes curl reflexively. Utterly distracted, the Doctor abandoned his attempt to make them breakfast and drew his hands along her thighs, tugging the shirt along as he went. Long fingers swept along her skin, bringing sparks of pleasure that made her sigh against his mouth. 

“Did you forget I was coming, or is this an invitation?”

The Doctor drew away first, the flash of panic and alarm in his eyes swimming through Rose’s muddled vision as she tried to work out what was going on.

The intruder wore blue formal trousers and braces over a button up shirt.

“Jack!” Relieved Rose slid off the counter and stumbled forward, putting herself between the Doctor and Jack, arms raised and fingers splayed out as she tried to rapidly explain before one or the other flipped out. “Jack, sorry, I didn’t realise it was so late.”

Jack smirked, shoving his fists in the pockets of his suit trousers as he blatantly eyed the barefoot, pyjama clad Doctor up and down. “You know if you told me you had company, Rosie, I might have dropped by earlier.”

Panic scrolled through Rose’s brain. In most circumstances, everyone loved Jack. He was funny and charming and spent most of his time walking around dressed as a wing commander while flirting with anything that breathed. This very new reunion with a guy she desperately did not want to lose again, was not most circumstances.

“Jack, is it?” Rose spun around to face the Doctor, disappointed to see the cautious, withdrawn expression she thought she’d successfully eradicated the night before. 

Jack swept further into the room, all fifties style and perfectly set dark hair, hand stretched out in a friendly gesture. “Captain Jack Harkness, and of course I recognise you: Doctor, you look even younger than your pictures.”

Rose bumped Jack’s shoulder with her own as he strode into the kitchen. “You’re not a bloody Captain and stop trying it on, he’s not interested.”

The Doctor shook hands, clearly a little bemused by Jack’s swift slide from flirting with Rose to himself. “I take it you’re Rose’s friend.”

“Friend, neighbour, partner in crime.” Jack clapped his hands together, shooting Rose a pointed look. “Rose, hurry up. We have a brunch appointment.”

“Shit.” Rose dragged one hand through her tangled hair, wincing as a thousand tiny knots resisted her basic combing attempt. “I need a shower. Um… Give me ten minutes, okay?”

“Sure thing.” Jack shrugged, going automatically to the pantry and rooting around for snacks. “You want some cereal, Doc?”

The Doctor hovered, eyes on their uninvited guest, quiet in a way he barely ever was. “Nah, he’s coming with me.” Rose held out her hand and the Doctor took it without question or resistance, happy to join her at her side and slide one arm around her waist possessively.

“Mmhm.” Jack peered around the cupboard door, eyebrows waggling lecherously. “If he’s any good you haven’t got time.”

“Trust me, he’s good.” Tugging on the Doctor’s sleeve Rose let him guide her out of the room and back up the open stairs. 

“Don’t forget to use a condom!”

“Feel free to leave without us!” the Doctor yelled back, before dropping his head and muttering in Rose’s ear. “That’s your wingman?”

Rose’s pulse thumped in her throat, just the right side of pleased with the Doctor's grumpy attitude. “Oi, don’t be rude. Jack came with the house.” She shoved the Doctor gently into the bathroom and kicked the door closed behind them. “…and he’s been fun to hang out with. Where Jack goes, craziness and public nudity follow.” The Doctor raised one finger questioningly. “His. Not mine.” She amended rapidly. “Jack’s just… he always just does his own thing. It’s inspiring.”

“Of course.” The words came out tart, full of sour undercurrents. The Doctor stripped his shirt off in one fluid movement, revealing the lean wall of his chest that she’d explored so thoroughly the night before. Casually he leaned through the open glass door of the huge luxurious double shower and twisted the taps on. “You should be friends with whoever you want.”

The water sprayed across the tiles in a sudden burst of pent up pressure, drowning out the sound of Jack’s footsteps on the floor below.

“But what?” Rose’s arms were crossed against her chest, the faded logo scrunched and distorted.

“Nothing, Rose!” The Doctor stomped towards the mirror above the double sink, clearing the rapidly forming condensation and checking out his hair with short angry movements. The muscles in his back flexed as he rolled his shoulders in short irritable movements. “I just missed - stuff, with you, that’s all.” 

Of course. Of course it was that, she’d run away and left him out for years. Would it always be that? Anxiety sat in her stomach, a painful weight that wiped out any lingering hunger and replaced it with unsettling nausea. “D’you think I didn’t miss stuff with you? I saw your cover with flipping Prince Harry.” Rose snapped back, deliberately missing his point. “Stop being such a hypocrite.”

“Ah…” He scratched his stubble, glancing at the clock above the mirror and pretending to calculate if he had time to shave.

“Yeah. Got you.” Sighing, Rose lifted the hem on her shirt and pulled it over her head, exposing her bare breasts to his gaze. She didn’t have any qualms about him seeing her naked, half the world had, after all, and this disagreement was temporary. She hoped.

He cleared his throat, pointedly keeping his gaze on her eyes, a strange acknowledgment that she needed to shower in the middle of a fight. “I can wait until you and Jack have gone, if you want to shower alone. Go to a hotel or whatever.”

The breath she’d been holding rattled through her chest and out in a stream of unconscious words. “Don’t be stupid, Doctor. I need you at the meeting too, and you’re staying here… unless you don’t want to?”

“No, no, I- Of course I’ll stay. I’ll stay as long as you want.” He grabbed his discarded toothbrush by the sink and ran it under the water, still avoiding looking at her. “What’s the meeting about?”

Rose hooked her thumbs under the waistband of her underwear, sliding them off her hips until they dropped to the floor and she could step out of them. Trying to be nonchalant while she barred her soul and her heart thumped in her chest. “It’s about my book.”

He paused, extracting the toothbrush from his mouth and spitting impatiently into the sink. “You’re doing a biography?”

“No, I wrote a book. A novel.”

The Doctor rinsed his toothbrush and slotted it back in the pot with a clink of glass against the plastic. “Oh.” Every movement deliberately unhurried, buying time to school his features, he forgot how long she’d known him.

Rose rolled her eyes, stepping into the shower and adjusting the temperature. “Yes, I wrote a book. Don’t act so surprised.”

The water splashed over her skin in a calming spray, the loud crash of each droplet against the tile and plastic tray enough to drown out anything but her thoughts as Rose slid the door closed and ducked her head under the water. It was unfair to expect the Doctor to always react perfectly to everything, but it still hurt, somewhere inside every time she was under estimated. 

There was a scrape as he slid the door to the shower open, a rush of cold air announcing his presence. “Can I come in?”

“Are you over the shock that I did something impressive?” She shot back, prickly with dented pride.

“Rose.” He stepped inside the cubicle, sliding the door shut rapidly behind him. “Rose,” he wrapped his arms around her from behind, letting the water spill over them as he pressed a gentle kiss against the back of her neck. “You’ve always been impressive to me. Book or no book. You could be a cleaner or a nuclear scientist and I would adore you.”

She reached up to run her fingers through his wet hair and creating a miniature spray of water droplets. “There’s definitely going to be a book, publisher is already lined up. They just don’t know I wrote it, Jack’s been doing all the meetings for me.” 

She twisted in his grip, trying not to slip on the wet shower floor. 

“Today’s the day I come clean, new life as an author, and all that. And there wasn’t anyone I wanted here except you.”

He brushed rivulets of water away from her upturned face, cradling her face in his hands as his eyes burned into her own. “I couldn’t be more proud of you.”


	6. Café

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose, the Doctor, Jack and a publisher meet up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, thank you so much for all the kudos, I really appreciate it.
> 
> Edit: 5th Feb.  
> I have a terrible habit of going back to chapters the next day and doing little edits that I missed before I hit publish, today that was chopping quite a bit of unnecessary stuff out so it flows better.

“Ten minutes? Jeez… You don’t have to pretend you’ll be on time to save my feelings.”

Jack slid from his kitchen stool in one smooth, bounding movement, dumping his bowl and spoon in the sink before grabbing his car keys from the counter and waving them in the air impatiently. "Let's go."

Rose's shoulders crumpled at Jack's very visible reminder of today's mission. “I can’t do this.”

“Rose,” the Doctor moved in front on her, cradling her face with his spare hand. “You faced off against Missy and survived. In twelve years, I never saw anyone else do that.”

“She’s pretty good with lairy drunk guys too.” Jack chipped in. “So I think we’ve basically covered all publisher worst case disaster scenarios. Just get in the car or we’ll be late.”

 

The café that Jack had arranged to meet the publisher at wasn’t in the city, but in a small town a few miles away, nestled up high among cliff tops that overlooked a rocky cove. If the publisher, a short, stocky woman with closely cropped platinum blonde hair, had any strong feelings about the appearance of Rose and the Doctor at her eleven am appointment she hid them well. She rose from her perch at a corner booth with gorgeous views as soon as she saw them, calling out a jubilant “Jack, darling!” 

Jack shot her one of his patent giant smiles, arms wide as he hurried between table to bundle the tiny woman into a full bodied hug. “Grace! I’m sorry we’re a bit late, just had a few things to attend to at the house.”

“Sure, Jack.” Grace's voice was full of bemused tolerance, quite blatantly someone who had got the measure of their sometimes duplicitous friend very quickly. The woman peered around Jack, her gaze flickering between Rose and the Doctor. “Which one of you is responsible? Or both? You know, it’s all fine here on the coast.”

Rose smothered a laugh, sticking out one hand and letting Grace grasp it with both her own. Up close crows line wrinkles around Grace’s eyes betraying her gentle ageing. “I’m Rose Tyler,” she explained. “And this is the Doctor. We’re Jack’s friends.”

“Oh Rose!” Grace pulled Rose bodily towards, wrapping her in a vice like hug that nearly knocked her off balance. “Of course, I didn’t recognise you! You look fabulous,” Grace stepped back, holding Rose arms outstretched as she looked her up and down. Apparently satisfied she nodded, and waved them towards the table she’d been sitting at. “Sit down, sit down. California is good for you, sunshine and feeding up was all you needed, hmm?"

Behind Grace’s head the Doctor was chewing on a biscotti he’d filched from the bar and laughing silently at Rose’s shell shocked expression. 

“And you!” The Doctor snapped to attention as Grace bundled him up too, face pressed to his chest like they were life long friends. “I know your work well.”

“Oh… it’s nothing really.” the Doctor extracted himself quickly, sliding into the booth and instantly rearranging his cutlery in a classic hug avoidance move. 

“Of course, it is! And so cute with that accent.” Grace winked as she folded herself into a chair with far more elegance that the Doctor had. She fished out a sheaf of papers from her dinky little leather satchel and snapped open her glasses case.

“Is it cute? I’m not cute am I?” He turned to Rose, a slightly panicked look settling behind his eyes as she slid into the booth beside him.

“I dunno,” she patted his knee in a reassuring gesture, amused at how quickly they'd fallen into old patterns. “You just sound normal to me. Like London.”

Jack smirked, slotting in on the other side of Rose and spreading his arms out along the back of the booth behind them. “Save the dirty talk for home, hey? I ordered tea for everyone.”

The Doctor huffed slightly at the presumption, and Rose nudged him with her shoulder, leaning close to his ear to giggle a bad lyric burned across her brain. _”Superheated infusion of free radicals and tannin, natural accompaniment when poetry is slammin'”_ The tiny downturn of his lips twitched in response as he caught her eye and stuck the tip of his tongue out.

Her stomach lurched as she resisted the urge to kiss his pouting mouth, pointedly turning her attention back to the publisher she was supposed to be impressing. 

Grace ignored them, smiling warmly at Jack as she patter him on the arm. “Thank you, Jack.” She slipped her glasses on before fixing the Doctor and Rose with a welcoming stern eye. “So, how do you two know Jack?”

“Me and Jack are neighbours.” Rose leaned forward, propping her chin up on her palm as she held Grace’s gaze. “The first time I met him, Jack mysteriously turned up, soapy and naked in my garden.”

“You know how some one-night stands just really don’t work out?” Jack cut in. “This one copied my keys, took my phone. I ended up climbing over Rose’s fence, butt naked, to call the cops.”

“Yeah, first day in town, didn’t know anyone at all, stuck on the phone trying to work out where to buy furniture.” Rose expanded. “Naturally finished off with a strange naked guy and lots of sirens. He does mostly wear clothes now.” 

“It’s all part of the Captain Jack Harkness experience.” Jack smirked over his coffee.

The Doctor paused mid creation of a paper swan. “Apparently the just walking in is a permanent feature.”

“And…” Grace’s eyes glinted, one pointing finger glancing between Rose and the Doctor. “I’m sorry, I have to ask, always had a bit of a gossip mag habit. Shameful, I know. You two, I didn't know you were still an item.”

“Rose and I are old friends. We used to work together.” The words tripped off the Doctor’s lips like second nature and Rose was relieved he hadn't made some big thing of announcing their relationship right there and then.

“Of course.” She pressed her lips together, taking in the way Rose and the Doctor were casually pressed together without further comment.

The tea arrived. A tray with three different pots slowly brewing different blends, and the group fell on the distraction gratefully, passing around cups and discussing transatlantic differences in how to brew the perfect cup.

“That’s better.” Grace settled into her seat. “Now, Jack. The book editing is going extremely well, just clearing up all the little errors at this stage. Funny how many English spellings snuck in there, but – I’ve been thinking about the title. I’m not sure Bad Wolf is the way to go.”

Rose’s heart thumped in her chest. “Why not?”

“People are stupid.” Grace shrugged apologetically. “There’s no wolves in it, so they’ll moan and leave bad reviews. I mean obviously, it’s a metaphor for the emotional journey of the protagonist, but I’m going to circle right back round to stupid people here.”

“Oh. I guess that makes sense.” Rose sipped her tea, watching Grace as she continued to flick through the pages she recognised as her manuscript. “What would you call it then?” 

Grace frowned, an almost imperceptible move as she turned back to Jack. “Did you have any other thoughts Jack?”

He shrugged, taking a long swig from his cup before signalling the barista. “It’s up to Rose.”

If Grace was surprised at Jack's deflection, she didn't show it. “Are you a creative influence on our lovely Jack?”

“Uh.” _It’s my book!_ Screamed through Rose’s brain, a sky written, flashing light desire to confess. The words caught in her throat. 

“Rose is more than that. She’s the soul of the whole operation.” Jack prompted. 

“Heh.” Words continued to fail to appear, dancing at the tip of her tongue with painful uncertainty. 

The Doctor’s hand slipped over hers where it lay dumbly on the table top, thumb brushing over her knuckles and bringing with it comforting sparks of familiarity. “Beyond the soul.”

Grace was starting to look actively confused.

“I, er,” Rose mouthed the words awkwardly, years of battered self-belief dogging her speech. “Actually I wrote the book.”

Grace gaped openly.

“It’s a funny story, actually, obviously you know my previous creative work was basically... well. Pop. Didn’t want to get pidgeon-holed by publishers. Jack offered to be my go-between, kind of a double agent agent thing.”

Grace stared down at the papers in front of her, scanning the text before staring back up at Rose, perplexed. “Oh.”

“Yeah, not exactly the book anyone’d expect from me, is it?” Rose pulled her hand out from under the Doctor’s letting it settle on her knee as she fiddled with the edge of her skirt. 

“Although,” the Doctor tugged on ear thoughtfully, “that does kind of beg the question what kind of book people would expect from Jack, actor-slash-model.”

Jack looked surprised. “I didn’t tell you I was an actor-slash-model.”

“Oh, it’s California, every handsome man is an actor-slash-model.” The Doctor smirked at Jack’s pout while Grace ignored the pair of them, reaching out to lay a hand across the table, open palm towards Rose. “I have to say, Rose Tyler being the author here... It puts a completely different spin on this work.”

“You know, you say actor-slash-model enough times it starts to sound like something completely different.” Jack tongued the corner of his mouth lecherously and Rose threw a sugar sachet at his head without so much as a glance in his direction.

“What kind of spin?”

Grace leaned back, dropping the sheaf of papers against the tabletop. “Oh, the usual. It’s all PR. Jack knows people, that's handy sometimes…” on cue, Jack winked. “But people know you already.”

Frustration took over. “No, they don’t. They think they do, but-” 

Grace waved one hand dismissively. “Of course. I completely understand. These things are so superficial. But the general public has a certain impression of you, a girl from the projects, became a pop star then crashed and burned in an alcoholic ball of…” She waved her hands emphatically. “Nothing.”

“Firstly, it was a council flat, not some kind of bizarre social experiment-”

“Weelll…”

“Shut up, Doctor.” He snapped his mouth closed. “Secondly, not an alcoholic. Just British, having fun, try it some time. Thirdly, I walked out because I couldn’t bear the industry anymore. No crashing about it.”

A sad knowing look settled across Grace's features, and Rose bristled at how patronising it felt. Like her French teacher at GCSE suggesting maybe she just not bother with the exam. “That’s the other problem, Rose. You went hard and fast for a music career then walked out of it because, according to your label, you couldn’t handle it. You wrote a book, an excellent book that I’ve been happy and keen to publish.” Rose felt relief wash through her body, tense shoulders slumping downwards. “But now I have to convince a pretty conservative publishing board that this isn’t a whim for you, that you won’t walk out on a press tour and damage our relationships with event holders and critics.”

Rose’s face flushed as years of bad press headlines regurgitated into a fresh surge of anxiety. “You don’t know anything about why I quit.”

“No, I don’t. Neither does anyone else.” Grace turned to the Doctor. “Do you? Would you work with her again?”

He didn't hesitate. “Of course. In a heartbeat. Rose is the most loyal person, to people that deserve it, and ridiculously brave to boot.”

“People who don’t deserve it…” Jack added.

“Not so much.”

Grace sighed and moved her chair back, the wooden legs scrapping on the tile floor with a painful screech. Silently she packed up the manuscript and her few possessions back into the leather satchel. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

The relief and anxiety knotted together in Rose’s belly a tense, uncertain mixture that made her feel sick. For once the boys were quiet, leaving her space to decide how to proceed. To speak for herself. Rose was intensely grateful. “You were all ready to sign on the dotted line when you thought Jack wrote that book. Does it really make that much difference that my name’ll be on the dust cover?”

“I honestly don’t know. Give me some time to think, I’ll get back to you.” Grace stood up, clutching the satchel to her chest and tapping it with her fingers thoughtfully. “Not how I imagined this meeting going, but it was lovely to meet you: Rose, Doctor. And Jack… don’t think I’m not mad at you for lying to me.”

“Sorry, Ma’am.” It was about thirty percent contrition and seventy flirting. 

"Rose, it really is a wonderful book." Grace nodded, and stiffly Rose returned the move, trying not to let the first butterfly stirrings of hope take flight.

The older woman left them behind, and the remaining trio watched her go, tense silence only broken by the low chatter of the other customers.

“Well,” Jack leaned back in his seat, letting his knees spread wide as he lounged out. “That went better than I thought it would.” He checked the chunky watch on his wrist. “Shit, I’ve got an audition, are you guys okay getting a Lyft back from here?”

Rose said nothing, only dimly aware of Jack sliding away from them, grabbing his wallet from his back pocket and dropping some dollars on the table.

“Sure.” The Doctor replied. “And, Jack… thanks for being here.”

“Ohh, Doctor,” Jack clutched his heart in faux agony. “You don’t have to look so pained when you say it.” 

“Oi! That wasn’t meant to be pained.” He nudged Rose with his elbow and shot her a surprisingly baffled look. “I was going for heartfelt.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Good luck, Jack. I’ll see you later, yeah?” 

“Course. Tell you what, next time I come by: I’ll knock.” 

Rose laughed as she saluted gratefully, watching as Jack checked his watch again before rushing out the door.

“Is he actually any good at acting?”

“Well…” Rose considered turning back to the Doctor as she scooted closer into his side, feeling his arm wrap around her shoulders. “He’s world-class at flirting. I think that might actually be the same thing.”


	7. Bar II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A disappointed Rose heads out drinking with the Doctor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note rating! Smut warning.
> 
> As a side-note, I updated the tags.

The Lyft car didn’t take them back home. It took them past Jake’s I Scream bar and round the back to drop them in a narrow alley. Rose was out of the car in an instant and the Doctor lagged behind, giving the puzzled looking driver a substantial cash tip. Rose had stayed out of the media pretty well in the last few years, but the morning had clearly not gone as planned and the Doctor was well aware that made her unpredictable and inclined to mouthing off about minor irritations. The last thing they needed was to wake up tomorrow to badly lit photos of Rose looking lairy splashed across the British press. 

Rose was already at the unmarked back door of the bar by the time the car had turned around and driven off, and the Doctor broke into a jog as he saw the door swing open, not willing to let her disappear alone. As it was, Rose turned to watch him, shooting him a small wry smile that didn’t quite reach her wistful eyes. As soon as the Doctor was close enough she reached out to him, her hand slipping into his with a gentle reassuring squeeze. 

From the trade entrance it was only a few steps to the staircase that led to the hidden bar. The inoffensive Ed Sheeran tracks of the day before had been replaced with ragged snatches of familiar London grime. “Did you tell Jake we were coming?” 

“Yeah.” The stairs were as steep as he remembered, curling tightly around to double back on themselves. Rose led the way, unzipping her jacket and slipping it off her shoulders as she went. She wore a plain grey tank top underneath, long enough to fall down over the curve of her bum and hips which swayed in the Doctor’s eye line and sent his thoughts to inappropriately pleasant places. The voyeuristic thoughts jarred unpleasantly with the last few hours, and the Doctor chided himself mentally.He shouldn't be thinking about shagging Rose now, when she was pretending to be fine, papering over the unhappy cracks in her life.

The bar was darker than usual and a quick glance around at the top of the stairs told the Doctor that Jake had closed the heavy wooden shutters on the windows at the front. Without the afternoon sunlight streaming in, the place was lit only by a series of heavy glass shaded ceiling lights, their luminescence reflecting straight off the copper bar and making everything look slightly orange and grainy.

Jake stood behind the bar, his expression guarded as he leaned against the far counter, polishing a pint glass with a cloth. “Hey.”

“Hello.” 

There was no one else inside. 

Rose walked over to the stereo that sat at one end of the bar, discarding her jacket over a nearby chair and twisting the dial until the low beats and tones of Not3s pounded through the speakers and made the floorboards vibrate under their feet.

“Meeting with the publisher didn’t go well.” It was more observation than question and Jake chucked the cloth into the sink as he watched them settle in. Cloth discarded, Jake stretched up to place the clean pint glass on the shelf with the others; replacing it in his grip with a fistful of heavy shot glasses. The glasses were dropped into a row along the back counter and Jake’s fingers moved instantly to slide along the labels of the motley collection of spirits lined up in rows. Without hesitation he settled on a golden bottle of tequila, the paper label faded and aged. With practiced grace the bottle was uncapped and a perfect measure spilt into each glass. 

“She said they might not publish my book, the one they bloody raved about to Jack. Not now they know it was written by 'Rose Tyler'.” The way Rose said her own name was painful, a ground out slur against herself. 

“It wasn’t a definite no.” The Doctor tried to reason, watching as Rose ignored him; her body swaying to the heavy slow beat, hands sliding over her ears before fisting her hair.

Jake had all three now full glasses gripped between his fingers as he turned back to face the Doctor and Rose. “What are you going to do?” Jake was talking to Rose, but the Doctor was well aware what Jake was getting at and he prickled under the other man's dismissive gaze.

Rose huffed, turning the dial down slightly on the music and coming back to slide onto one of the bar stools. “I don’t know. Wait and see what she says I guess. But for now, give me a drink, please.”

Obediently, Jake dropped the shots down in front of them. “It’s after five somewhere.”

There was a familiar routine to disappointment in the circles Rose and the Doctor flew in, and the Doctor followed his path robotically. Pulling his own jacket off in a couple of quick moves, the Doctor loosened his tie and top button; throwing them both over the back of a chair and out of the way. Rose moved his shot glass in front of the stool next to hers and patted the copper seat. “Your wish is our command.” The Doctor teased and Rose shot him the first real, pleased smile he’d seen in hours, all beaming pleasure and glimpse of teeth trapped tongue.

Rose lifted her glass, tipping it in the Doctor’s direction. “To whatever happens next!” 

The words were a throwback to running off stage in a bundle of sweaty dancers and pyrotechnics that rained from stadium roofs like falling stars. An audio visual flashback to smoking outside pubs with new friends that had been strangers only seconds before. The Doctor and Jake copied her move, raising their own glasses before downing the smoky vanilla liquid. Their glasses banged back down on the bar in unison and Rose laughed, shoving hers back towards Jake. “More, please.”

Jake shook his head, holding up one finger as he dug in his pockets with his other hand for a set of keys, throwing them down on the bar. Jake lifted the hatch that separated the bar from the seating area and moved through to join them on the punter side of the line. He left the hatch propped open and Rose hopped off her stool immediately, gliding past Jake with a quick hug as he checked out his reflection in a scratched mirror on the underside. “Adam’s downstairs but the bar doesn’t open until five – until then I’m going to the beach. Don’t burn the place down.”

The Doctor palmed the keys off the table instantly, inspecting the half dozen metal shapes that would open every damn door in this place. “You sure?”

Jake nodded. Something wordless passed between them. It had been a long time since Jake and the Doctor had been on the same team, bundling Rose from place to place undetected, creating space for her to breathe when no one else would. There wasn't much camaraderie there, but there was grudging respect. It would do, for Rose's sake.

The Doctor put the keys in his own pocket. “Have fun.”

“Oh, I will.” Jake waggled his eyebrows, a move so ridiculously Jack that the Doctor found himself spinning on his stool to point at Jake accusingly as he disappeared down the stairs yelling goodbye.

Rose had the tequila bottle and was refilling their glasses with a nonchalant air. “Another.” She pushed the glass towards him, the golden liquid splashing over the rim as it skidded across the bar. 

“Three, two, one.” 

They drank.

Rose filled the glasses again.

“Jack and Jake, huh? Not a great name for portmanteau-ing.”

Rose laughed as she dragged a stool from the corner of her space behind the bar and settled down in front of the Doctor's eyes. A couple of shots in Rose's gaze was blatant, her pose softened, all silky fluid lines as she lounged against the bar, elbows down and head propped on her hands. “Nah, that’s definitely casual. Jack doesn’t really do commitment. Also, _I_ now know to knock when I go next door.”

The Doctor’s lips twitched in response. “Not a lesson Jack learnt?”

“Well, he didn’t really need to.” Rose cocked her head, fiddling with one earring as she looked away. A swell of possessive pride spread across the Doctor’s face, unable to do anything but grin stupidly at her embarrassed admission. Rose leaned over the bar to swat his shoulder. “Shut up.” She sat back on her stool heavily, picking up her glass and giving him the nod.

They drank again. Eyes locked hungrily over the bar that artificially separated them.

It was too much, probably, because Rose broke their intense gaze first, drawing away as she sighed “I need to eat." under her breath like it was a terrible confession.

Suddenly Rose seemed miles away from him, back in a different Universe.

Rose glanced back at him, pulling her phone from her back pocket and throwing it at the Doctor. He caught it with unusual grace. “There’s a number for pizza on there. Ohh, and chips! I want chips. Proper ones.” Rose sighed. “Might have to go back to London for that.” She turned away again, squatting down as she opened a cupboard and pulled out a cardboard box that was tucked inside. Bags of crisps crowded the inside and she pulled a couple out, searching for the right flavour.

The Doctor glanced down at the phone clasped tightly in his hand, tapping the power button experimentally he watched as the screen flickered to life. The lock screen picture was nothing unusual, a shot of the ocean that might have been taken from her bedroom balcony. The phone prompted for her lock code, hesitantly he watched Rose bobbing up and down behind the bar, finding more snacks and gathering them in her arms. “Twenty six oh three?” He ventured, letting his fingers find the numbers automatically.

It unlocked. 

“The day we met. You never changed it.”

Rose turned around, dumping her haul of treats on the bar between them and shrugging casually, as though keeping such a potent everyday reminder of their relationship for so long was nothing at all. A meaningless action amongst a sea of practiced spontaneity. The Doctor looked away, swirling the dregs of liquid left in the shot glass between his fingers, her footsteps on the wooden floor echoing in his ears. 

“You were the first person I ever met that taught me how to say no.” 

The Doctor looked up. Rose wasn’t where he expected, and he span to his left before half-conscious deductions had any time to coalesce. She looked oddly vulnerable, stood so close to his side that his knees brushed against her as he turned to the sound of her voice. 

“You always cared about what I thought. Even when I had no bloody idea what was going on, you still listened.” Her hands rested on his thighs, smoothing the fabric of his trousers under her fingertips, green eyes wide as she watched his reactions.

“Rose…” 

“When I met you, I was living this life that should have been exciting, but was all..." She struggled to find the words. "Exhausting routine and twenty four hour judgement. And then you turned up, and it became… it was amazing.”

He ran his hands up her arms feeling every inch of her warm bare skin. “Rose.” Words swirled behind his lips, caught on his tongue. “When we met at the studio, all the label people left and we started experimenting with all the instruments.”

She nodded, one corner of a lip turning up in a sweet smile. “We wrote a song about Shareen.”

“Yeah, your mate. You were so busy all the time that you were worried she’d drop you.” He dropped his hands from her side, glancing at the bottle of tequila still standing on the bar and grabbing it for a shot of courage straight from the bottle. “And I realised I spent so much time at work, rescuing other people’s careers that I didn’t have any school friends left, or University friends… Or any friends, exactly. My family were all gone a long time before that. I was just by myself.”

Rose moved closer, sliding between his legs as one of her hands moved to rest against his chest, and he wondered if she could feel his heart, beating painfully fast with every admission. “So you picked up the next girl you ran into?” There was a teasing lilt to her voice, a gentle press of her fingers that told him she knew it hadn’t happened quite like that; more, that she’d been very happy to be swept along. 

And that was the point wasn’t it? That was why he’d missed her so much, no matter who else he’d met, because being not-alone with _Rose_ had rapidly become something else, something all consuming and nameless, something completely different to any other relationship he'd had along the way.

 

“Doctor…” He looked so agonisingly bruised, his gaze off to one side. Rose raised one hand to brush his cheek, and he turned into her touch. She closed the distance between them, pressing her lips against his gently. She could taste the smoky alcohol and distant memories of first hesitant stolen kisses. “You’ve got me.” She whispered, still close, avoiding his eyes as she bared her soul. She felt his smile against her lips. Felt his breathing calm against the palm of her hand.

The Doctor kissed her back, a cathartic move that seemed to release some of the tightly wound tension that had been pounding through her body all day far better than any drink. The air around them seemed to change, a bubble of static that fizzed with every touch of tongue and press of lips. It was another kind of drunk, another kind of craving. The kind that stalked Rose's dreams and filled her with a keening, twitching need that buzzed constantly at the back of her mind; demanding this exact combination of skin on skin.

She wondered if he felt the same. If the Doctor's admission that he was lonely when they met, like Rose hadn’t known hadn’t seen her own isolation reflected back in him, was really an admission about how much he needed her. 

There were other words they didn’t say, and she channeled the thought of them into deepening the kiss, letting the fingers that had cradled his cheek slide back to delve into the hairs at the nape of his neck. He shivered in response and she felt his arms wrap around her as she pulled him closer. 

“What-” She cut him off by licking the sweet point in his neck. A tortured sigh escaped his lips. "Rose… how angry will Jake be if we have sex in his bar?”

Rose giggled against his collar bone, kissing her way to the open top button and licking the dip in his clavicle. “He already forgave Jack. Many, many times.”

“That is…” The Doctor's clever fingers found the hem of her top, pulling it over her head. “Excellent news.” He dipped his head to kiss her collar bone as he spoke, each word punctuated by the tingling anticipation of his lips trailing kisses towards her bra. “In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard better news.”

“Really…” She breathed, reaching between them to unbutton his shirt and push it off his shoulders. Perched on the stool he was a little higher than was really comfortable, and clearly frustrated he slid off the high spot, draping himself around Rose as he glanced around them, scouting for a better location. Absently his hands skimmed her sides, falling down to trail over her posterior. Their drunken fumbling the night before shot back into Rose’s mind, a gasping vision of how incredible it felt to be with him. The bar might not be a particularly great location, but she found herself tragically unable to care. 

“Table.” Rose heard the Doctor mutter and then she was really in his arms, picked up by deceptively strong arms that braced under her bum until her feet lifted off the floor and lugged her a few steps until he dropped her, arse first onto a lower wooden surface. The Doctor grinned at her smugly. “Perfect height.” 

Rose folded her arms across her chest, shooting him an irritated glance. “For what?”

The Doctor's jaw dropped and he leaned back immediately, dropping his hands from where they rested at her sides, bashfulness at his own presumption in every movement. Rose cracked, reaching out to him and hooking one finger through the waist of his trousers to draw him back. “I’m teasing, you just took me by surprise.”

He raised his eyebrows in an arch show of huffiness, even as he slipped between her thighs, stroking the skin beneath his long fingers. “I thought you’d like it, that’s all.”

Rose undid the button and fly of his trousers in response, smirking at him as she tugged them downward and popped herself forward, sliding off the table and spinning them around. Despite the trousers half way down his legs the Doctor somehow managed to complete the turn without falling over, halting with his bare thighs backed against the top of the wooden table. “I did.” She reassured him and one corner of his mouth twitched at his victory.

The tequila was starting to really hit her senses now, not enough to make her feel drunk, but enough to make everything feel that little bit more vibrant. Feeling cocky, Rose toed off her flip flops and kicked them behind her, feeling the familiar warmth of the floorboard as she considered her many options. Impulsively she gripped the sides of the Doctor’s underwear, pulling them down impatiently. The Doctor grabbed one of her wrists, slowing her down so he could adjust himself freeing his cock from the fabric as she slid it away. 

Not finished, Rose slipped down on to her knees in front of the Doctor, feeling his eyes on her as she loosened the laces on his converse enough to slip them off, then tugged his skinny jeans off his feet. Adrenalin swirled through Rose’s body, snapping jerkily between the urge to demand he fuck her immediately and teasing him mercilessly now he was completely naked and she was not. She paused, fingers poised to act, and glanced up. He was staring at her, hungry eyes that bore through her soul and went straight to her core, a stab of desire that left wetness seeping between her legs. 

It wasn’t fair that he could do that to her, just by looking.

“Patience.” She murmured, taking the moment to hold his gaze as her fingers found the skin of his calves, starting low and brushing through the short hairs at his ankle then rising up his body, barely touching his skin as they skirted up past his calves and all the way up to the inside of his thighs. Deliberately, she didn’t touch his cock, sweeping her arms above her head instead, to run over his belly and chest as high as she could reach, before stretching behind his back to ghost over the firm curve of his arse. She swept back around over the top of his thighs, carefully keeping to less erogenous zones as she tortured him with gentle touch. His eyes closed for a second, lips moving silently as he strained not to thrust his hips forward towards her.

Avid thirst whispered in the back of Rose's mind and Rose switched tactics, repeating the action with her tongue; starting at one knee and rising upwards until she was deliberately skirting around his groin, listening to his restless, frustrated moans. The Doctor’s hands found her hair, not holding her down but stroking through the messy hairs as though he was just desperate to touch her anywhere he could reach. 

Something snapped inside of Rose, and she squeezed her thighs together as she pressed a kiss to the top of his penis. The Doctor moaned her name in response, a guttural earthy sound that made her desperate for more contact. Rose shuffled closer, gripping the shaft of his cock with one hand as she wrapped the tip with her mouth; he jerked in her grip, moving back to lean more against the table for support. The hand that had been in her hair disappeared and she could see it gripping the edge of the table, the knuckle white and flexing intensely. Emboldened, she shifted position, taking as much of him inside her mouth as she could, then drawing back and forward a few times, ending each arching movement with a sweep of her tongue over the head of his cock or a gentle squeeze of his balls. “Fuck, Rose…” 

Suddenly, his hands were at her shoulders, tugging her away. “You need to stop, or I’ll…”

Rose groaned against him, and the Doctor jerked in response, swearing loudly as he tried to hold back. “No.”

Rose moved away instantly, leaning against his thigh as she caught her breath. The Doctor's hands were at her shoulders again, reaching under her arms to draw her up properly, until they were pressed against each other attacking each other’s mouths with hungry demanding kisses. Her clothes were in the way, a barrier to the feelings her body demanded now. “I’m feeling over dressed.” He grabbed the strap at the back of her bra instantly, struggling with it for a few seconds before pulling it, frustrated, apart. A metallic ping told Rose the bra was very dead now. She did not care. They moved apart just enough to whisk the bra away from her then crash back together again, her nipples so sensitive that every brush of their chests together was enough to leave her panting for more. 

The Doctor patted her skirt pocket, slipping his fingers inside until she could feel him inching out the little silver packet he wanted. He grinned against her lips, then more gently than the time before, wrapped his arms completely around her and lifted her off her feet, rotating their positions until she was back where he wanted her, sat on the table, with himself right between her thighs.

He lent back just to enough to admire her splayed out before him, propped up on her hands and chest heaving. “Rose Tyler, you are so beautiful.”

She rolled her eyes, but she blushed too, could feel the heat in her face as he watched her, the carnal look from earlier replaced by something more reverent, even as he dealt with putting on the condom. “You forgot my pants.” 

The Doctor shook his head wickedly, dropping onto his own palms as he hovered over her, the head of his cock brushing against the lace of her underwear. “No, I didn’t.” 

One hand moved to drift along Rose's thigh and she shivered at the contact, delicious sensations building as the hand moving where she wanted it most, sliding under her skirt to rub along the outside of her underwear. Teasing had long since been thrown out of the window and he hooked one edge of the flimsy underwear with his finger and pulled it to one side. His cock nudged against her entrance as his fingers found her clit, starting a lazy rhythm that brushed the tense nerves gently at first then harder until she was panting with every stroke. Sweat broke out across her skin, and unable to support her weight and concentrate on the building power of her orgasm she dropped onto the table, hair hanging over the far edge as her back arched against the cold hard surface. “Doctor…” She groaned fisting the air uselessly with her hands as the waves of building pressure built into adrenalin that demanded explosive release. She ground into his hand, using her legs to tug his whole body closer between his thighs until he gave in and surged inside her, letting his cock fill the demands of her restless tortured body. Another couple of strokes was all it took, pushing the earthless energy to became a white hot surge of power that shook through her and exploded, leaving her twitching against the table and the Doctor’s cock. 

The Doctor was extremely pleased with himself, she could see it in his eyes as he waited for her to recover enough to nudge him with her thighs; demand he resume his own rightful place and pace. He obliged immediately, hovering over her body to press gentle kisses against her breasts and shoulders until he was satisfied she was recovered enough to be led back into a more upright position. The shift meant they could kiss properly and Rose took full advantage, satisfying her own lust with licks and kisses against his mouth that asked and received entrance over and over again as he set a lazy tempo. Rose threw her arms around his shoulders tethering herself against his strong frame as she rocked her hips; gasping as they found the right position to satisfy them both. He picked up the pace, abandoning their kisses to nuzzle against her neck as he murmured her name in an endless praising chant; so incredibly turned on that it wasn’t long before he lost the power of speech, reverting to grunts and moans that skipped his vocal chords with every last breathless twist of his hips as he gave in to his own orgasm.

She squeezed him tight, deliberately twitching the muscles in her vagina against his sensitive cock and hugging him close to her chest as he half slumped against her, recovering his composure while nonsense phrases babbled from his lips. 

Rose opened her eyes, letting the bar swim back into view, the dull orange light and the wall of silly hats. 

Below them a door swung closed.


	8. Jack's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That closing door sets the Doctor and Rose into a panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, new subscribers!

“What was that?” 

“I don’t know…” The Doctor stepped away, grabbing their discarded clothes off the floor and throwing Rose’s to her, before stumbling into his own trousers. Adrenalin hampered his every move, leaving him repeatedly shoving his bare foot into the crotch of his trousers before managing to get it into a leg hole. Rose pulled the grey tank top over her bare chest, the ruined bra abandoned on the table beside her. Her entire outfit looked so rumpled it could've been pulled straight from the hamper, while her hair flew all over the place; a chaotic mess. The Doctor lifted his shirt to his face and breathed in the dry scent of tequila before throwing it on regardless. 

There was no way anyone who walked in now could miss the fact they’d just had sex.

The door slam from below echoed painfully through his mind. If someone had seen them, then they had a massive problem. 

“Jake said Adam was still in the building, I’m sure it’s nothing.” Rose’s voice was flat, a measured lie to prop up her shuttered expression. 

“Absolutely.” The Doctor chirped, buttoning his shirt and shoving his tie in the back pocket of his trousers. He glanced around the bar, eyes skipping over the abandoned shot glasses and tequila as he searched for cameras. Trying to look casual he wandered over to the bar and behind the counter, running his fingers along the edge of the hanging shelves before peering through the cupboards. Jake was too canny to have obvious CCTV but that didn’t mean there wasn’t some hidden away somewhere. 

Finding nothing, he turned his attention back to Rose, watching as she slung her jacket over her shoulders and hovered by the bar, fidgeting with the edge of the paper label on the tequila bottle. “We should go.”

“We could wait for Jake; talk to Adam.” Jake was trustworthy, he’d proved it time and again. Adam was a stranger to the Doctor, a question mark where he wanted facts. 

Rose shook her head, fishing a hair band out of her pocket and trying to roughly tame her hair into a messy bun. “No. We should go now, the paparazzi are speedy here. Ride around on motorbikes.” Both of them knew well how that could end up.

Rose moved smoothly, the fidgety irritation suppressed into tiny pulls at the scraps of hair that had escaped the hair tie. Rose was used to this, of course, and the Doctor felt guilty for assuming he knew better. “Okay. Let’s go.” 

They didn’t tidy up properly; the Doctor dumped the empty shot glasses in the sink and tucked Rose’s broken bra away in his inside jacket pocket. Rose grabbed her phone and the bottle of tequila, typing furiously as she headed towards the stairs. 

The Doctor paused, glancing around for anything else that might look bad to the press if they left it behind. “What about the keys?” 

“Jake says take them, he’ll get the spares from his apartment on the way back.” Rose frowned at her phone briefly, before glancing back at him, jerking her head down the stairs. “Uber's on its way, they’ll meet us out the back.”

The bottle of tequila swung from her hand as he hurried down the steps, her flip flops slapping against the wooden stairs loudly. The chrome measure still stoppering the top of the bottle was shiny in the dim light. “If you're going to take that, at least hide it.”

He could feel Rose rolling her eyes, but she shoved the bottle under her jacket, zipping the front to hold it in place before opening the door at the bottom of the steps. The Doctor surged down the steps behind her, skipping treads to close the gap and stay as close as possible. His heart beat painfully in his chest, past press ambushes present in his mind.

The corridor was empty, the bare walls shockingly white after the dark stairway. The Doctor and Rose worked simultaneously, her closing the bar door with a quiet click while the Doctor headed towards the front, listening hard for the tell tale rapid clicks and rumbling voices of betrayal. 

They didn’t have to wait long, Adam burst through the staff door, skidding to a stop with his hands in the air when he came face to face with the Doctor. “Oh, thank God! A press truck just pulled up out front. Do you need me to sort out a ride?” The Doctor crossed his arms, fixing the ice cream attendant with a sceptical stare.

Rose appeared at the Doctor’s shoulder waving her phone. “No we’re sorted. Keep ‘em busy, okay?”

Adam’s mouth goldfished as he tried to comprehend the basic request. “How do I do that?”

“I don’t know.” Rose snapped, exasperated. “Tell them Elvis comes in every Tuesday.”

“Right. Okay.” Adam took a deep breath before spinning on his heel and heading back the way he’d came.

“I really don’t trust him.” 

Rose shrugged, “Jake does, for now, that has to be good enough for me.” She sighed. Straightening her jacket with a slight adjust of the hidden bottle before sticking her thumb out towards the back door. “Come on then, Romeo, you can go first.”

“That sounded just like your Mother… She's not hiding somewhere around here, is she?” Rose slapped the Doctor's arm as he squeezed past in the narrow space, muttering under her breath as she stalked him down the corridor. 

There was no peep hole in the outer door, so there was nothing for it but to snap the locks and stick his head out. At least they had the keys for the bar and could lock themselves up there if necessary. It wouldn’t be the worst place they’d ever been stuck, but how long it would be for was anyone’s guess. Silently, the Doctor dealt with the looks and eased the door ajar, peeking out.

The alley contained a single silver hybrid car, it’s driver a thick set man with curly dark hair and a bored expression. "Silver car?" The Doctor whispered to Rose, waiting for her agreement before he slipped his hand into Rose’s and shoved the door open more fully, guiding the pair of them confidently out of the building and straight into the car. There was a knack to escaping the scene, quick but unhurried. Rush too much and you drew attention, linger and be caught.

“Are you my booking?” The driver peered at them through the rear view mirror, already putting the car in gear and backing out as Rose ducked into the car behind the Doctor and slammed the door closed. 

“That’s us.”

“Great.” The driver turned his attention back to the road, swinging the car into reverse as he dodged around the shop dumpsters that crowded the alley and turned the car around.

The traffic was heavier than the Doctor had expected and Rose eyed the slow moving cars nervously before leaning over to grab his wrist and look at his watch. Dissatisfied she slumped back into her seat with an irritable huff. 

“You guys live up the coast road?” 

The Doctor stared out the window, rubbing his face with one hand to hide his instinctive twist of his lips every time anyone suggested he and Rose were anywhere near official and pretended he was looking for the tell tale plain sided vans that gave away large numbers of press.

“Yep.” Rose agreed. 

They left a long gap where she should have asked after the driver. Blessedly, the driver had good enough people skills to let it go, concentrating instead on the stop start motion of the traffic as their car joined the main road, squashing into a gap that felt far too small for the car to actually fit.

The yawning silence felt irritating, a physical barrier to all the conversations the Doctor still had not had with Rose. When her hand fell into the middle seat; an open palmed invitation that came with the smallest smirk, he grabbed it gratefully, watching her eyes sparkle as she tapped the bottle under her jacket discretely with her free hand, intent to continue their sex and alcohol binge written all over her features. 

“What do you want to do later?”

Rose shrugged, jerking her head towards the driver as she pretended to consider her options. “Netflix?” Her smirking grin becoming a tongue touched smile that reminded him so strongly of their London days that his stomach lurched painfully.

He played along. “Netflix, huh? How far did you get through The Crown?”

Rose shrugged. “Haven’t seen it.”

“Well that’s outrageous." the Doctor protested with faux indignation, hamming up his British accent. "Imagine if dear old Queenie knew you hadn’t bothered tuning in for a mere twenty hours of royal scandal.” 

She bit into the end of her thumb, eyebrows raised and shoulders shaking with surpressed laughter. “You haven’t watched it either, have you?”

“Welllll." He let the word drawl out. "No. Not exactly.”

“Ahuh.” Giggles burst from her lips, all the tension of bad meetings and press run-ins bubbling over into see-sawing brittle laughter. The Doctor felt his own dry chuckle joining hers, some emergency protocol stress barrier dropping away and leaving him, with Rose, and their ludicrous situation.

Rose’s phone beeped and she dug it out of her back pocket as she wiped tears from her eyes, taking a moment to calm her breathing before swiping the screen unlocked. “It’s Jack… and he’s having a party.” She sounded pleased. “You wanna go?”

 

Jack’s place was structurally a mirror of Rose’s. Though every vestige of bland white box treatment had been ripped out of it, the interior plaster work pulled away to reveal the original bare cement walls and air conditioning vents. The floor was ground polished concrete, a sparkling affectation to what had never been an industrial building. The kitchen at the back carried on the theme, the counters littered with high end bottles of booze, the varnished surface below a mess of old burns and graffiti that gave away it’s recycled past. 

Milling through the open plan downstairs and garden were a mess of what the Doctor could only assume were Jack's model friends, all ridiculously tall and good looking, rolling tumblers of clear spirits between their fingers. Rose was in the middle of it all, as always, the day’s casual outfit swapped for a blue and white layered dress that was cut pleasantly short around the thighs, flashing the long length of her tanned legs as she sipping on some ludicrously coloured drink Jack had pressed into her hand. The Doctor hung back, done with small talk for a while and happy to watch her face light up as she creased up laughing at the anecdote of a Welsh guy in a perfectly tailored suit. 

Without conscious thought, he moved back slightly, making space for a trio of girls to navigate the space left between him and the back of the sofa. 

“Oh my God, you’re the Doctor!” 

The last girl, a ginger waif, loomed alarmingly close, whipping her head around so fast her long hair slapped painfully against the Doctor's face before knocking the beer bottle in his hand straight into his shirt. The lukewarm beer sunk into the fabric, the hoppy scent rolling over him in an unpleasant throw back to the men’s room floor of some of Brixton’s scummier pubs. “Oh my God, I’m such an idiot.” The girl breathed, stumbling sideways as she tried to grab the back of the sofa and steady herself. 

“Woah, Linds.” Jack bounded across the room towards them, host duty on point. “Let me get you a cab…” Jack leaned around, looking for something. “Hey Ianto!” The Welsh guy turned around, meeting Jack’s beckoning gesture with a familiar smile. “Show the Doc to my room, he needs a new shirt.” 

Jack’s voice boomed across the crowd, drawing their attention like mayflies around a light. Ignoring the scene he’d started, Jack swivelled back to the Doctor. “I mean, Rose might well be down with the guys joining a wet t-shirt contest, but I’m guessing the kind of yellow tone you’ve got going on now is a step too close to looking like an unfortunate accident in the club’s bathroom…”

Ianto rolled his eyes. “You really can’t keep telling that story, Jack. Undertones has been closed since ’04 no one even knows where you’re talking about.”

“And that is the crime of LA. That place was our history, our culture, our-” Jack faltered slightly, arms waving wildly as tried to grasp the words slightly out of his drunken reach.

“Our exploding urinals?” Ianto finished, looking Jack straight in the eye with unflinching poise.

“Yes!” Jack agreed, happily, clapping Ianto on the back before turning back to the beer spilling guest, who seemed to have lost track of what was going on and was now staring out into the dark garden, the remaining beer still dribbling from the upended bottle at her feet. “Okay, gorgeous. What happened to your boyfriend?”

Apparently keen to avoid making arrangements to get drunk people home, Ianto waved the Doctor towards the stairs. Hesitating slightly, the Doctor followed. "Jack hasn't got that exploding urinal up there as a momento, has he?"

"No, you're safe." Ianto and the Doctor walked side by side up and stairs and straight to the largest bedroom and Ianto knocking briefly before opening the door and sticking his head through. “All clear.” 

The Doctor shrugged, hands in pockets. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to sneak past a not-very-private private moment and he guessed not Ianto’s either, though he was grateful not to have to. The whole exchange still felt oddly like an appraisal, and the Doctor prickled slightly in Ianto's measured presence. 

The bedroom turned out to be the room in the house that looked most like Rose’s. The bare concrete walls had been polished down and looked paler than they should; bright moonlight that spilled in through the large windows and across the pale stripped oak floor boards. A huge canvas dominated the wall above the head of the bed, the roughly painted shapes hinting at bodies melting together in a mess of chaotic limbs. 

Ianto ignored the Doctor looking around and made a beeline straight for the large walk in wardrobe that was tucked away beside the entrance to the room. The door protested the drag with an aching groan. Moments later the flip of a light switch revealed a sea of clothes, and the Doctor gravitated towards the sounds of Ianto's movement, curiosity leading him to the perfectly arranged selection of shirts and trousers. Rows of jackets and coats jostled side by side with some more outrageously coloured red and orange offerings, alien amongst the sea of navy and grey. 

“Jack’s really got a strong look going on.”

Ianto nodded, the tiniest flush of colour to his cheeks giving his affection away before he ducked his head away; heading down the central aisle of the wardrobe with singular intent. “I’m his tailor.”

“Not just that.” It popped out before the Doctor could help it, and Ianto stayed his hand for a fraction of a second before continuing on his path, stopping at the rows of hung and perfectly pressed shirts. A couple of glances in the Doctor's direction were all that was needed before half a dozen were removed and hung from Ianto’s wrist, carefully balanced so they wouldn’t rumple or drag on the floor. 

“No, not just that.” Ianto agreed. “What about you and Rose?”

The Doctor pulled at the top button of his shirt, loosening the fastening with a quick movement. “Jack told you about this morning, didn’t he?”

“Yes.” Ianto smiled diplomatically, bringing his selection over to arrange at exactly equal increments around the bed. “Can I confess? I did start to wonder if you would ever turn up. Jack’s been bursting to meet you. He’s bloody terrible when he’s curious, at one point I thought he’d fly to London and turn up at your door.”

The last few soggy buttons were wrestled lose, and the Doctor stripped off the ruined shirt, scrunching it up and tossing it on the floor. He idled for a moment, letting his fingers trail across the suggested garments before bringing them up one by one to compare against his trousers. “Rose mentioned me then?”

It was too late, tailor mode had taken over. “Not that one.” Ianto, pulled a grey shirt away hesitating for a moment before swapping it for a pallid cream. “Oh that’s worse. Stick with the blue.” Decision now out of the Doctor’s hands he let Ianto remove the suggested shirt from the hanger and hand it over to him, giving it little more than an approving nod before sliding it over his shoulders. 

“Of course she talked about you, she’s completely in love with you.”

A reassuring rush of endorphins flushed through the Doctor, leaving a giddy smile just touching the edge of his lips. 

 

“Doc!” 

The tide of the party was turning, the folding patio doors had been closed against the surprising chill of California evenings and some of the guests had started drifting away, moaning about 4.30am morning calls and excessively long waits at the make-up trailers that powered early morning Hollywood. Others settled into the stiff leather sofas for the night, cards and poker chips scattered across the coffee table, brightly coloured cocktails swapped for beers and cider that could only be Ianto's influence.

The Doctor looked for Rose first as he descended the stairs, picking through blonde heads for the one he wanted. She was easy to spot, always had been, even if Jack hadn’t been glued to her side, shoulder to shoulder in a suspiciously propping-her-up looking pose. Rose was perched at the edge of the kitchen counter, legs kicking as she picked through a bowl of snacks and occasionally waved her fingers in Jack’s face, clearly trying to argue with him about something. 

The Doctor sped his steps, weaving through the guests to meet them. “Rose, you okay?” 

Rose rolled her eyes, hard – stabbing a pointy finger in the Doctor’s direction. “I’m fine – look at me. I just might have forgotten, a teeny bit, to eat any lunch. And I blame you – because you were supposed to order pizza.”

“Ah.” The Doctor scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, that was, yeah. Sorry, Rose.”

“And now,” Rose continued, not appearing to take any notice of the Doctor’s apology. “Now, I am really very, very close to completely plastered. Because of you.” She emphasised. Lurching forward suddenly as she shoved herself off the counter top, landing with all the stumbling grace of a baby deer against the Doctor. "You smell nice." The Doctor wrapped his arms around her waist instinctively, letting her steady herself against him. The messy pony tail from earlier had been replaced with a much more labour intensive bun, the smooth column of her neck now so bare and close to the Doctor's face it took intense resolve not to lean down and lick it immediately. 

Nostrils flaring, the Doctor peered around Rose's head to give Jack a disgruntled look. “You didn’t have to let her drink quite so much.”

Rose peeled herself back from her position in the Doctor’s arms, fixing him with a hard stare before Jack could defend himself. “You did not just say that.”

“No?” He tried to look contrite, and despite the alcohol dulling her senses Rose shot him a look that said, quite clearly, she knew he wasn’t sorry, but would overlook it for now. 

"Doctor - take me home.”


End file.
